Sam Sinke's Blog

Tuesday, September 3, 2002
09:38 p.m.
Uncles     Ever since I was a little kid, I remember wanting to be like my Uncle Rob. He’s well traveled, enjoys his job, and most of all seems to enjoy life.
    He can also tell a story. From a long line of family who could shovel manure, Rob could really dish it out. He could even portray characters in his stories, do voices, and even make up a character for a joke. One of his favorite was this guy named “specs.” He had big, thick glasses and called people “Robaleye,” or “Burtaleye.” For anyone who knew specs, they knew he was always the funniest man at the party.
    Since Rob was in the Air Force for years, he has a mixed bag of stories from all around the globe. After getting back from Saudi Arabia, he told us how he found sand in cracks of his body he wasn’t aware existed. As he squeezed toothpaste from the tube, he found sand in even the last little bit of paste left in the tube. There have been a few new stories from his time at Alaska Airlines, but the type of story has changed for a more mature audience. By that, I don’t mean the stories became racy. Stories take on topics about what it’s like to be a grandparent. They have morals with no point, much like most older storytellers nowadays.
    As a nephew of a pilot, I can remember playing outside, and seeing a jet trail, thinking to myself how that could be my uncle flying that plane up there. The chances that it was Rob would probably be about one in a billion. But it was nice to imagine it was him, checking instruments and wondering if that little town down there is Spring Valley, Minnesota. And if that’s Spring Valley, I wonder if my nephew is outside looking up in the sky right now. It was a nice thought. And I would like to think that it has happened at least once.
    As time goes by, I still come to think of my Uncle Rob as my missing mentor. He’s the only person in my family who enjoys and goes out of his way for seafood. Especially when his nephew comes to town. Unlike most of my extended family, Rob and I both enjoy coffee in the morning. And unlike most men I know, he will drink and occasionally enjoy a dark beer.
    Rob continues to tell his stories, and they’re even better when we have just finished hunting for the day and have settled down for a beer. We can then forget the stories and he can tell the same ones all over again. And we don’t drink good beer. We drink Schmitt. It tastes like it was poured out an old shoe, and we like it that way. It’s the stuff Grandpa Burt brought hunting, and it will always be the one we bring hunting. In the winter, there are deer on the cans. In the summer, there are fish on the cans. And that’s the only way you know that the beer isn’t six months old.

    I’ve never managed to have the “black and white” mindset that Uncle Rob seems to maintain. And what I mean by that is that he seems to think there is an answer to everything, and there should be no gray area.
    He, like my grandma, loves to talk politics. And you’d better pick a side. Rob's a little conservative, grandma's a little democratic. And that's just fine.
    I used to love to talk about all politics with both of them. But that all changed one day when my grandma asked, “What do you think about this Monica Lewinski?”     Well, I’ll tell you what. I’m not going to ask Monica out, and I’m not going to talk about sex when I around my grandmother. I will say my grandmother won a tasteful argument by saying that she was angry about how “they” were tearing apart her Constitution. I left it at that, I should hope that Rob left it at that, and I sure hope that nothing else happens in D.C. so we can all leave it alone and never talk about “it” again.
    The last time I talked to my uncle he was in excruciating pain from some kind of hernia, or something at least as embarrassing to talk about. I had planned a trip out there, but ended up canceling because he was bedridden. I postponed the trip, so far to the point that I eventually decided to fly to Great Falls, Montana to visit my Aunt, Uncle and two cousins there. It was actually time for me to visit them, but I still felt like something was missing when I missed the trip to Seattle to see Rob. When I see him doing well, it seems to empower me.
    Come to find out Rob’s first wife didn’t like kids, and didn’t want them in her house. For that, we never got to see my uncle’s home in Kansas City, Phoenix, California, or wherever he was living. I always thought she was such a nice lady, and I remember being able to carry on a few conversations with her. They were about as deep of a conversation that a six or seven-year-old could carry on with a 30-some year-old housewife. For all I know she could have asked me to “go away,” and I would have been polite enough to say, “oh, O.K.,” and wander off to go find some toys.
    When my uncle married the second time, he struck gold by marrying a woman you could swear was Martha Stewart’s stunt double. (picture that, Martha stepping out of the picture, and my Aunt Jean stepping in to bake a pie the "real way") My Aunt Jean demanded immediately to be called “Aunt Jean,” and continues to work diligently to provide us all with a glimmer of what life could be like if you would simply cook food from scratch, sew your own clothes, and court a lady like the good old days. I can’t fill in too many details, but would simply have to say that life would be good. Actually, life would be very good.
    Rob and Aunt Jean spent a little while in a small trailer while they built a dream home. They have a huge ranch home, and a huge building out back. Both of the buildings are packed full of antiques. Everything has a story, and they somehow have managed to keep the house bouncing with a strange kind of energy that wakes you up at 6 a.m. and gets you to bed around midnight.
    On their back porch and from the back yard, they somehow placed Mount Rainier into the perfect spot to view from a rocking chair, the back steps, and from their master bath.

    At the point when I started college, I wanted to be like my uncle John. He and my aunt Pat had decided that the money they put away would now be better spent on a cottage in the northern woods of Minnesota. While I was in college at Duluth, they would stop in to see me before they headed up the north shore. Our family, from my great-grandfather to my cousins had a history of going up to the Ely area for fishing, canoeing and hunting. But Ely has become over-run with tourists and tourist traps. And since tourism dollars are much more spread out on Minnesota’s north shore, John and Pat eventually drifted toward the shores of Lake Superior.
    After checking in with some realtors and searching a few properties, they decided on a little lake named Christine. She was a smaller lake, which meant less anglers and less motors. Actually, there’s little need for a motor. You can make a slow paddle around the lake between the break of dawn and lunchtime.
    Christine is just out of Lutsen, down Honeymoon Road. In the fall, the road and it’s canopy branches become a part of the scenic drive. That creates an endless stream of cars. But from what I’m told, that’s the only time of year where they hear that much noise. And cars driving down a gravel road don’t really make that much noise.
    My uncle John had a friend who taught shop at a twin-cities high school. Actually, to be more specific, he taught a construction class, which gave them the idea of building a cabin. After throwing around some ideas, they figured out the project. The kids would build the cabin in eight-foot sections, and when it was completed, John and some friends would take it apart and pile it up on some snowmobile trailers. And in sections, the parts would be transported up north, and put together to build the cabin.
    Now this may sound easy, and the builders certainly made it look easy. But this was the case only because of John and Pat’s ability to make friends. No, actually they make great friends.
    While the kids were building the sections, John and Pat, my cousins Reese and I think Travis, made it up several weekends to clear brush and cut down trees to make room for the cabin. At some point, they even brought in several loads of gravel, and had a culvert delivered for the driveway. I made it up at least one of the weekends to help out with the clearing. But I felt like I had hardly made a dent compared to what they’d cleared away. Some of the weekends, I know it was only John and Pat up there clearing. So I felt good that sometimes they would stop and stay at my place while they were on their way up north.
    One or two of the weekends they spent putting in and having the pilings inspected. And once that foundation was given the go-ahead, the sections made their way up north. There was a crew of almost a dozen guys one weekend, and the next weekend was spent finishing the roof and interior. Along with Dave Farm, I was given one of the most important jobs. We were to build the outhouse. The building was pretty much put together already, so it was our job to dig the hole and finish up the bench and its hole. We reinforced everything with tin, so we wouldn’t get any rotting, and then painted the inside white to give the “bathroom” impression. For the cold winter months, the outhouse was fitted with a couple of propane burners to keep the place warm.
    Whenever I go up there is always something to do. We go snowmobiling in the Winter, walking waterfall trails in the Spring, fishing in the Summer, and then hunting in the Fall.
    Sometimes we just sit around the cabin and relax. Relaxing is, after all, what vacations are all about.
    We play games at night, and usually watch a movie. We pass a lot of gas and laugh a lot. And when it comes to passing gas, there’s only one thing to say about my Uncle John. He’s gifted.
    While we started snowmobiling with my Grandpa, it was my Uncle John who kept the sport alive in our family. He taught me more than anyone else about being a responsible hunter and angler, and about being a welcoming homeowner.
    And while I would say that John is well traveled, he hasn’t traveled overseas. But he takes a vacation at least once or twice a year. And he and my aunt Pat are really good about finding little towns, restaurants and hotels off the beaten path.

    What I’ve found is that traveling like that usually takes an incredible measure of patience. It also means you get enjoyment out of little things, like finding a good “ma and pa” restaurant or stopping at a Presidential museum in the middle of Iowa or Illinois.
    Lately I’ve been finding out how much I enjoy the little things. Every once in a while, I’ll buy a new pair of deerskin gloves or a new package of socks because I know it will make me feel happy for a few weeks. And it’s not as if the joy comes from just buying things for myself.
    Every once in a while I’ll make cookies or bars or something, and take them on the road with me. When I give them to clients or friends of mine who stop by my satellite truck, they get so much joy from getting homemade foods while on the road. All I can this is how easy it was to make them, and how much I enjoy making people feel at home.
    In the last few years, I became an uncle. And along with my brother Drew, I think we’re both going to make good uncles. Drew, the teacher, the living mentor will play catch and keep the kids forever interested in sports.
    I, the traveler and storyteller, the missing mentor, will teach the kids how to blow things up, and ride their bikes like they’re immortal.
    You see, everything always evens out in the end. I’m looking forward to having the niece and nephews over to my house. At those moments, I’ll be able to show them what a real home cooked meal tastes like. Just like my house, Drew will also show the kids that you can just be yourself and you don’t have to let little things bother you, as it is at home.
    Even at their young ages, I see their differences. Already I can tell which one will be the traveler, and which will most likely hold down the same job for several years. But I don’t have the heart to tell my sister what I see. She will find out soon enough.

    I’ve been living in Kansas now for a year. And I’ve missed hunting, fishing and going up to visit at John and Pat’s cabin on Christine Lake. I’ve found little things to occupy my mind, but nothing has been as calming and soothing as spending a couple of weeks fishing with John and Pat.
    At my cousin Barbie’s graduation, I was told that Pat said she and John missed having me stop for visits. They said that they were always pulling into the driveway, and thinking that maybe one of these days they would hopefully see my truck sitting in front of the cabin. That, over anything else, makes me miss Minnesota and my family. That, over anything else, is what family is all about. What an incredible lesson to learn about being a member of a family.

    My first memories of my uncle Joel either conjure up sledding or going down waterslides in the summer at Wisconsin Dells. And either Joel had an insatiable love for sledding or waterslides, or he suffered from an incredible fear of them. He would holler in a way you could only describe as “cartoon-like.” And when there were other kids around to ask, “who is that guy making so much noise?” I would have to say hesitantly but proudly, “that’s my uncle Joel.”
    When Joel finished college he eventually went to work for 3M in the cities. He married my aunt and since they had been dating for years, quickly became a part of the family, and one of the boys.
    At one point in his career, he decided to go into the seminary, like his father and his brother. He worked hard to start a new church in Cottage Grove, Minnesota. And he raised four daughters. I couldn’t help feeling that since he was my godfather, I could always be the son he didn’t have.
    Ever since I started college, and whenever I could make it home for Christmas, I go to Joel’s Christmas Eve service. When I can, I try to sit in the front row pew or at least let him know that I made it this year.
    I often will try to make it to his service on Easter, or go with my Grandmother. The difference in churches is only about ten miles, and they are both of the same denomination. I feel as though I’ve become a part-time member of both churches. And even though work keeps me away from church most of the rest of the year, it feels good to know that there are community churches out there that will welcome me. And I know that Joel goes out of his way to let everyone know this.
    Joel and I have come to share a passion for photography and nature. We both stay aware of current events and try to keep a sense of humor. I think he leads a much more stressful life, but his job certainly reaps a lot more rewards.
    As he gets closer to retiring, Joel is talking about buying an RV and traveling around as a guest minister. The idea will largely be up to my aunt Donna, since she will have to do most of the driving. That would be right up Joel’s alley. And maybe at some point he will let me do some traveling with him.

    I wish I could tell you more about my uncle Stan. He met my aunt Lucia on a blind date. I know he was in the Navy, and got out to start a business in electronics and computers. And I think he put money into something having to do with animating machines.
    Stan has shown me what it is to be successful. It involves incredible determination and perseverance. Hard work is built not upon genius but on hard work.
    He has become successful, and he has retired early. And he is still called back to work so that others can draw off of his expertise.
    I last saw my Uncle Stan and Aunt Lucia at Lambeau Field in Green Bay, WI. They stopped by my satellite truck on their way into the stadium. Stan wanted to know how everyone in our family was doing. He wanted to know more about my job. Neither of us had a lot of time, but we were able to catch up on a lot of things before I had to access the satellite and they had to get inside to the game.
    I always enjoyed talking to my uncle Stan. He was always nice to me. He talked about things other than teaching and school jargon. But money changes people. Maybe money changed my uncle. Maybe money changed my parents. I sit somewhere in the middle. I enjoy the fine life of going to the symphony or treating myself to a nice black-tie dinner, and I enjoy sitting out in the driveway with my redneck neighbors drinking beer and grilling burgers.
    If you believed what my parents believe, you would think that people become more and more evil as they acquire more and more money.
    I don’t believe that’s what happens to people when they get richer. I just think some of them find better things to do than hang around poor people.

    A couple of summers ago I was working in the Twin Cities, and I made a trip out to see my aunt and uncle who live in Great Falls, Montana. It was a great chance to get to know my Uncle Rob better. Whenever I talked about Rob Putzker, he was, “uncle Rob, the cowboy.” And even though he is no longer a professional cowboy, he will always be a real cowboy.
    Even after he left the profession as a ranch hand, ten years later, ranchers are still calling him for farrier work. It’s hard to find a good farrier. It’s close to impossible to find the best farrier. And by the sounds of it, he’s one or the other.
    Rob has never been able to handle large cities of the Midwest. The Twin Cities are ridiculously huge. And even the suburbs are too crowded. And while I’ve heard of people getting claustrophobic while in tight spaces like caves or closets or at the doctor’s office, Rob has the first case where you start to feel closed in going to a town of more than 100-thousand people.
    Montana is very spread out, but I have a hard time believing that it won’t be just as crowded as the rest of us in the matter of fifteen to twenty years. Urban sprawl has lead to country sprawl, and 90-acre farms like my grandma’s farm are becoming extinct. She won’t sell the land to another farmer because to other farmer can afford her farm. She has sold to some kind of developer, and they will turn the place into high priced neighborhoods, or maybe a corner of industrial buildings. Deer will not roam through yards here in Denmark Township. And black cap bushes that were picked for over a century will now be sprayed with herbicide.
    In Uncle Cowboy Rob’s backyard, people are fighting over water. Just to go fly fishing, you have to lay claim to public water rights, and never step out of the creek until you reach a public road. You could also get lucky and get permission from the landowner. But that’s pretty rare. Many of the good fishing holes are being bought up by celebrities and land barons.
    The government seems to be doing its part by trying to keep park acreage. But since more and more trails are added to the parks each year, the actual wildlife is decreasing as visitors demand paved trails through the park.
    As I’ve gotten to know my uncle Rob, he’s taught me a lot about living in a community. And that community extends beyond just your neighborhood, and extends beyond your nearby town. Ranchers from all over Montana know my uncle Rob because he has done farrier work for years in towns near Helena, Missoula, Glaskow and Great Falls.
    Through work I’ve talked to people from each of those towns, and quite a few knew who Rob was, or had worked with him, or had gone hunting with him. One guy I talked to on the phone was a smoke jumper with my uncle Rob.
    Cowboy Rob spent quite a few years as a smoke jumper. Acclaimed as the second most dangerous job in the world, Rob went about the work quietly and without a hero’s welcome.

    For the past few years I have become an uncle. And while Uncle Sam doesn’t necessarily come bearing gifts every time he comes to town, he holds his own compared to the grandparents.
    I don’t see myself getting married and having kids in the next few years, so I will really get to enjoy being an uncle for a while. I realize when I am watching my nephews for a day or even a few hours that I am not ready for kids. But at some point I will not have a choice. And I know I will enjoy them when they are here.
    Until then, I will send all my pride to my niece and nephews.