The Art of Hitchhiking

I’m sure you’ve seen those poor souls walking along the side of the road as you’re driving on the highway. Their back is toward you as you speed along; their arm is down by their left leg with a weary thumb hanging out forlornly. For the record: That is not hitchhiking.

Photo credit: theroadandawetblanket.blogspot.com

Successful Hitchhiking is an actual art form, and back in the day, a practiced Hitchhiker could cross the country about as fast as another person could drive across the country. But, one has to know how to do it, and like anything else, the more you practice, the better you get.

From the mid 1950’s through the mid 1980’s I relied on hitchhiking to be a primary mode of transportation. I hitched to and from school, to dates (and sometimes on dates), on visits to friends, to work – and lots of times just for the fun of it. I hitchhiked back and forth to Kodiak, Alaska 2 times and to both the East and West Coast on multiple occasions.

During those years, I prided myself in usually getting a ride within the first 10 cars. It didn’t happen every time, but more often than not I didn’t have to wait more than a couple of minutes to catch a ride. During those years of ‘riding my thumb’, I developed a code of sorts, that I always went by. It goes like this:

1.       If you’re going to walk, then walk. If you’re going to hitchhike, then hitchhike. There is a world of difference. Don’t try to do both at the same time.

2.       Be neat and clean. You don’t have to wear a suit, but you must look nice.

3.       Don’t hitchhike in the rain. This is supposed to be fun, and standing in the rain is not fun. Besides, most drivers don’t want a cold, wet stranger messing up their nice car. Get a cup of coffee at a coffee shop; chances are you can pick up a ride from someone in the restaurant going the same direction as you.

4.       Look like you are on a mission; like you are trying to get somewhere important. Display confidence and good manners. Hold your arm and thumb out straight like you are trying hard. Don’t try to be cool; be sincere.

5.       Before getting into the car, find out how far they are going. NEVER accept a ride from a person that isn’t going at least to the next town or the next stop light. You don’t want to be left in a poor spot to catch a ride. If you do find yourself with a ride that isn’t going to drop you in a good spot, nicely ask them if they would kindly drive a little further to the next light. It is a lot better to ask and not have to walk a mile or two! If you have struck up a good relationship with your ride, they will be happy to help you out. It makes them feel better (and you too!).

6.       Always choose a location at which the driver can easily and safely pull over to pick you up. The best spots are on the far side of a stop light from where the drivers have to stop. Going at 70 miles an hour on a country highway, few people will consider taking the time to pull over, and for sure they won’t have the time to ‘evaluate’ you. They will just keep on driving.

7.       At these stoplight locations, put your backpack down and concentrate on the drivers waiting at the light to go. Don’t stare and don’t let your eyes linger. But, try to make eye contact for a second or two. With this type of ‘connection’, you can sometimes actually pull a driver over to the curb to pick you up. Really!

8.       If you don’t like the looks of the driver, or the other passengers, DO NOT GET INTO THE CAR. This is your decision, not theirs.

9.       When you do get picked up, be friendly and polite. This person picked you up because he/she wanted some company. Get them talking about themselves and make some interesting conversation. Not only will you enjoy yourself, but more often than not, you’ll learn something interesting. And the extra bonus is that this driver will look forward to picking up the next hitchhiker because of the experience he’s had with you.

10.   On long rides, you don’t have to pay for gas; that is not part of the deal. If they want gas money, get out of the car at the next good spot and let the first guy drive away. It is not worth it.

11.   Offer a sincere Thank You to each and every driver when you get in the car - and at the end of the ride. Everyone likes to be appreciated.

In this ‘modern world’, one rarely ever sees and hitchhiker anymore, let alone pick one up. This is too bad. Some of the greatest people I’ve ever met either picked me up – or I picked them up. People helping people; what a nice thing to do for someone.

by John S. Mickman

The Truck Gangsters and the Band of Mercy; Part II

In last week’s story, my best friend Cris and I had started chasing a fox across a log which was crossing a flooded creek. (Click here to read Part I)

Of the four of us Truck Gangsters, I was the undisputed fastest runner, and at about 79 pounds dripping wet, I flew after that fox like there was no tomorrow. He was fast and snaked though the underbrush like greased lightning, but I was quick and had every intention of catching him, I was right on his heels. I was aware of Cris behind me, but my focus was on trying to outrun and outfox this fox, and for a hundred feet or so I thought I was going to catch him. My breath was coming fast and the adrenaline was coursing through my veins like high voltage electricity. Boy, was this ever fun!

Then, in a millisecond, the race ended. The fox and I came upon a really nasty, thick bunch of brambles and were fighting our way through, when all of sudden, a big mallard duck jumped up, quacking and flapping, trying to get free of the same brambles the fox and I were getting caught up in. The duck was right there in front of me, and he couldn’t get free of the thick branches and vines. In a heartbeat, I made the decision to give up on the fox, and catch the duck instead. With one giant leap, with both hands extended, I left the ground and grabbed the duck around his body, just below his wings, and held on tight as we both crashed to the forest floor.

Well, this duck had no intention of being caught, and he was quacking and flapping and pecking at my hands and arms with all he had. I didn’t want him to peck me in the eye, so I had to hold him at arm’s length, as he continued to attack me while flapping his big wings against my scratched, cut up, and now pecked arms. I was getting beat up pretty bad by this duck and some of the cuts were bleeding. But, there was no way I was going to let this duck go. I was lying on the ground, unable to get up because I couldn’t use my arms and the underbrush was too thick to allow me to get my legs underneath me to stand up.

After doing battle with this duck for a minute or so, Cris came rushing through the brambles. “Holy Smokes John”, he cried out. “You caught a duck!”

“Help me”, I cried. “He’s trying to eat me. Look at him. He’s pecking me to death!” Without my buddy Cris’s help, there was no way I could have held onto the duck much longer. I was about done for.

Much to my relief, Cris sidled up to us, and gently grabbed the duck around his wings and folded them back against the warm, plump body of the duck. “Wow, I can’t believe it John. We got a duck. Look how cool he is!” And Cris was right. Our duck was a big old Mallard drake with an iridescent head and neck, with two curled up feather groupings just above his tail. Just a beautiful creature.

By this time, Cris and I had forgotten all about the fox, and we started back through the brush toward the log crossing. As Cris carried the duck across the creek, I knelt down on the log and washed all the dirt, twigs, leaves and blood off of my arms. My face was a little scratched up too and my mom was going to be mad about my torn shirt.

Once on the other side of the creek, there was a pretty good trail and the going was much better than on the other side. “What are we going to do with the duck?” I wondered aloud to Cris.

“Well one thing for sure, we have to show this duck to our dads. I’ve never heard of anyone ever catching a duck by hand. They’re going to think this is really something”, Cris said.

“Yeah, they are going to think this is really neat. Do you think he will fit in your dad’s live trap?” I asked Cris. “If he doesn’t fit, I don’t know where we can keep him ‘till they come home from work.” Cris was pretty sure the duck would fit in there, and we thought it would be a good idea to gather a bunch of weeds and stuff to put in the cage with him. Because Cris had his hands full, I picked some weeds as we paraded past my house and across the street to Cris’s house.

In Mr. Archibald’s shed there was his live trap, and after I put the weeds in the cage, Cris gently put the duck in there. The duck seemed a little bit anxious, but not too bad. “Let’s go get Mark and Brian and show them our duck”, Cris said. So we left the cage in a shady spot under the lilac hedge and got our brothers. Boy, were they ever impressed with us; we were the heroes. We got Mrs. Archibald and showed the duck to her too. She was a little less impressed, but then again, the moms were not really all that interested in our adventures with the local wildlife.

And of course we had to show off to the little kids; the Band of Mercy. Jim, Jody, Becky Sue and little brother Chris expressed a bit of alarm that we had imprisoned this beautiful wild animal and were worried that we were going to eat it. “Well we don’t know what we’re going to do with him yet”, I told them. “But we’re going to show him to dad and Mr. Archibald and they will have a good idea”, I continued.

“That’s right”, Cris said. “It’s not every day that you hear about someone catching a duck by hand. This is a really cool thing, even if you little kids don’t think so. You guys need to just stay away and don’t scare our duck!” With that, Cris and I went into his house and Mrs. Archibald made some sandwiches for us. We told her about the whole adventure while we ate our jelly sandwiches and drank our milk. Wow, what a day we were having.

After lunch, we went around the neighborhood and got Monty Girard and Robby Shimanski and our other friends and showed them our duck while recounting the story.  Our reputations grew by a couple of notches that afternoon. But, we were most looking forward to showing our duck to the dads.

Mr. Archibald always got home before my dad, and when he pulled into the driveway, Cris and I were right there to meet him. “Wait ‘till you see, dad. You won’t believe what John and I did today”, Cris said to his dad between breaths. We were still so excited, it was hard to maintain.

The three of us walked as fast as we could coax Mr. Archibald to go, trying to contain our excitement. When we got to the shade of the lilac hedge, we showed the cage to Mr. Archibald and exclaimed that we had caught that duck. “What duck?” Mr. Archibald asked. “All I see is a bunch of weeds.”

Cris and I were aghast! The Band of Mercy had struck - and released our duck!!!

*  *   *  *  *  *

When brother Jim grew up a little more, he was initiated into the Truck Gangsters, even though he refused to quit the Band of Mercy. The five of us had many, many adventures together and were all fast friends. But our friendships were not to last;

Mark died in a hunting accident when he was 18.

Cris became a gifted musician, but was drafted and went to Vietnam. He suffered from PTS Syndrome and took his own life.

Brian became a renowned marble wildlife sculptor; but he developed cancer and died in his early 40’s.

Brother Jim, Dr. Jimmy the Kid, became a well-known Pulmonologist at Health Partners. Dr. James Mickman recently died of a brain tumor.

It has been said that there are no friends like old friends. I wouldn’t know; I’m the last Truck Gangster.

The Truck Gangsters - A Story by John Mickman

John V Mickman & Kids in the 1950s

Growing up in the suburban community of Fridley, MN in the 1950’s was a great way to get a start in life. Virtually every home in our two block neighborhood had a working dad, a stay at home mom and at least 3 kids. Our family had 5 kids; I was the oldest, then came Mark, Jim, Jody and Chris. All of us were 18 months to 2 years apart.

Brother Mark and I were 18 months apart, and although I was older, Mark was a pretty gifted kid and we were about equal in most physical pursuits. Whenever we did anything together, the activity ended up being a contest. We grew up to be extremely competitive. 

The family across the street, the Archibald’s, had two brothers that were exactly the same age as Mark and me, Brian and Cris. Brother Jim and sister Jody were about the same age as Becky Sue Archibald, and little brother Chris was a part of this younger group. When you’re only 10 years old, a couple of years makes a world of difference, and there were two distinct clubs that formed; the older ones and the younger ones.

Cris Archibald and I were best buddies from the time we were 3 years old; we did everything together. We lived at the brink of the valley formed by Rice Creek and we spend most of our days ‘down the creek’ exploring, fishing, building forts and sliding in the winter. All kinds of fun stuff. Our favorite fishing hole was ‘The 3^rd Spot’, a deep little pool at one side of a long peninsula formed by the winding creek. Although we mostly caught bullheads, we did latch on to the occasional Northern. Mr. Archibald showed us how to clean fish and, unless they were too small, Cris and I ate everything we caught – and we caught a lot. We spent hundreds of days fishing at the 3^rd Spot over the long, languid summers; two young boys sharing our hopes and dreams, discussing the wild adventures we planned to have during our lifetimes.

Our dad purchased a 500 acre farm near St. Francis and at a very early age Cris, Mark, Brian and I spent most weekends ‘at the farm’. Our dad’s idea was that he wanted to engage us boys in some sort of a pursuit that we could work and play together with him. Dad was a really great guy who loved us dearly and taught us much. He decided to grow Christmas Trees on his farm and this is the endeavor that we kids spent most weekends and summers doing. Dad was a full time aeronautical engineer, but all of his personal entrepreneurial pursuits were part time labors of love.

While we did work hard every weekend at the farm, we spent an hour or two at lunch time having fun. We swam, sailed and water-skied in Lake George and, in the Winter, hunted squirrels and rabbits. Dad taught us how to shoot our 22 caliber rifles and we became very good marksmen. The rule while hunting was that we could only shoot the creatures in the head; no body shots. Dad explained this pretty strict rule to us: ‘Any damn fool can shoot an animal in the body so that it dies a slow, painful death’, he told us. ‘But when you shoot an animal in the head he doesn’t feel a thing. And besides, you don’t want to spoil the meat’. To this day, if I don’t have a good clean shot to the head, I don’t fire.

 Mark and I did most of the squirrel and rabbit hunting and it was always a contest to see who would bag the most creatures and who had the cleanest shots. We ate a lot of squirrels and rabbits in those days and had a tall stack of hides in our basement to prove it!

During these years of going back and forth to the farm each weekend, the four of us big boys, Cris, Mark, Brian and I, started calling ourselves The Truck Gangsters. Cris and I even made up a theme song:

                The Truck Gangsters are a wild bunch.

                They’ll beat you up with a single punch,

                And if you get in to their reach,

                They’ll throw you to Wiami Beach.

Cris and I debated about if it was called Wiami or Miami Beach. For quite some time we thought the correct name was Wiami Beach. However, even after doing some exhaustive research (we asked my mom) and learned that the name of the city was really Miami Beach, we decided not to change the lyrics. Dad had a great singing voice, and we all sang song after song while driving back and forth to the farm in his old Chevrolet Apache panel truck.

At about this same time, Jim, Jody, littlest brother Chris and Becky Sue Archibald formed their own club; The Band of Mercy. Jim seemed to be the leader of the group with Becky Sue, and along the way he began to be called ‘Dr. Jimmy the Kid’. Jim’s title seemed reasonable, as their mission was to save the lives of as many creatures as they could. What this really meant was that they would do all they could to minimize the death and destruction of The Truck Gangsters. We were not bad boys at all; we just liked to hunt, fish and sometimes put out a leg hold trap or two.

One warm sunny morning Cris and I were exploring ‘down the creek’ and Rice Creek was bursting at its shores. It had been a very rainy year and the flood water was literally boiling down and around its winding course. Along the way we decided to cross the creek over a huge oak tree that had fallen across the wide creek some time before. We had been using this old log as a bridge for years. Most of the time this old slippery log was above the gently flowing water of the creek. But on this day, the huge log was actually damming up the creek, to an extent, due to the high waterline.

Although we were both excellent swimmers, if we had fallen in we could have been in serious trouble. But of course being young and dumb, we knew we would never get hurt and certainly never die. So we jumped up on the log and started across. When we reached the middle of the slippery log we stopped and contemplated something we’d never seen before. On the upstream side of the log, thick, cream colored foam had gathered into which branches and other forest debris were stacking up. To a couple of young boys, this seemed like it could be a problem.

“Cris, what do you think about all this stuff stuck in the creek from this old tree?” I asked my best buddy.

“Well, if it gets any worse, maybe it might stop up the creek and flood the valley”, Cris replied. “Maybe we should try to shove some of this gunk under the log so nothing bad happens. What do you think John?”

That is just what I had been thinking, so we retreated to the near shore, found a couple of good, forked sticks and went back out along the downed tree. While carefully balancing on the slippery log, we began pushing the foam and flotsam under the tree so it could float freely down the creek, down to the Mississippi River and onto the ocean. We agreed that we were doing good work and that the earth was going to be a better place due to our efforts.

However, this really was hard work, the way we did things, and we had to focus on keeping our balance. We stopped talking and concentrated on the work at hand. We had a big job to do and were resolved to get all this stuff down the creek so that we could save the valley of the certain destruction of the impending flood that we were certain was to follow. It was a good thing we both happened along to save the day!

After a half hour or so of concentrated effort, I was startled by a little red fox that had sauntered out on the log to cross the creek. Cris and I had been quiet for some time, and two young boys on a log across the creek was the last thing this fox was expecting. We both stood, stock still, and looked at each other. Neither the fox nor I moved, although Cris hadn’t spotted this creature yet. I didn’t know what to do – and neither did the fox. We just kept looking at each other. I was surprised at how small and thin he was. But his long red coat was lustrous and the white and black markings on his face gave him a wily, sly kind of a look. I could count each of his long white whiskers. We both were kind of scoping each other out, because neither of us had ever had a close look at a fox or person before.

After what seemed to be a minute or two, I whispered to Cris, “Hey, look at this fox Cris. He’s right here on the log with us.” Cris leaned forward to see the fox whose eyes left mine and moved over to Cris. At this point the fox decided he had had enough of us and jumped up, changed direction in mid air and started running the opposite way across the slick log. “Let’s get ‘em”, Cris yelled.

The race was on. I scampered across the log and into the thicket on the far shore with Cris right on my heels. I had no idea what we would do if we actually caught up to the fox, but at that moment the consequences were not important; we had every intention to win this race and catch the fox.

End of Part I. Find out if Cris and I caught that fox in next week’s conclusion to our story.

The Caboose - A Story by John Mickman

Mickman Brothers’  first location was on the farmstead my wife and I purchased in April of 1977. Directly across the street from Majestic Oak’s entrance, sat our little plot of 4 acres with a little grey farmhouse and an antique red barn. The frame for this barn is of hand-hewn beams held together with wooden pegs. I planted a neat little 28 tree apple orchard just east of our driveway and my children and I spent many warm summer days watching all the apples mature; then we ate ‘em! The house and barn still stand, although the orchard has fallen on troubled times.

Mickman Brothers’ operated from our little farmstead for 10 years. By the end of 1986, we were bursting at the seams on this little plot of land; it was time to make a move.

Recently renovated Caboose
2013

So, after the 1986 Season, brother Chris started searching for a new site for our growing business. Chris is very good at many things, and he excels at finding just the right thing when we need a ‘good deal’. One wintery day he burst into the office and announced that he had located a 21 acre parcel of commercial property right on Hwy 65 at the corner of Andover Blvd. “And for a great price too!”, he exclaimed.

We jumped into his pickup truck and drove two miles to examine the site. It was flat as a board with a little hump on one end, onto which someone long before had built a little house. “The house has two bedrooms”, Chris said. “Each of us could have our own office!” This would be a big plus because we had been sharing a small office for years and it was sometimes difficult to get stay focused – with all that was happening in that cramped space most of the time.

We scrapped up all the money we could gather together and were able to come up with the 20% down payment needed, and purchased the property on which our company is still located. We were jubilant, as was our small staff. Preparations began to move the business from our little ‘house on the prairie’, into our fancy new corporate headquarters – in the little house on Hwy 65. My wife was pretty happy about the new plan too!

Before the actual move we developed a number of concepts for how we were going to transform the small house into an office building. “We’ll each have our own offices in each of the two bedrooms, and the living room will be the secretary’s office”, I suggested. We agreed we would keep the kitchen as it was for the time being, because we’d need a place to take breaks and eat lunch. This little house would work very well as an office for some time to come.

As we were making these plans, it occurred to us that because we were right on Hwy 65, people might want to drive in and purchase some of the nursery stock we would be holding for upcoming landscaping jobs. As long as we have such a great location, right on the corner, maybe we should start a garden center? Being young and entrepreneurial, Chris and I agreed that this was a good idea, even though neither of us had any retailing experience. “How hard could it be?” said Chris? “We’ll put the nursery stock out there and the people will drive right in and buy it”, I continued.

The problem of course was that we were broke and our borrowing capacity was just about wiped out with the purchase of the property. “We just can’t put nursery stock out there in the open without some sort of a display, Chris”, I reasoned. “We have to have some sort of a building – at least to hold the cash register. And we’ll have to hire some people to run this business, because you and I are too busy all ready. If we are going to open up a garden store, we have to have some sort of a building”, I continued.

We talked about this for some time, and agreed we wouldn’t need a very big building because all we were planning to sell were trees and shrubs. Time was also getting short because it was now nearly April and our Spring Season was just around the corner. “Well, let me see if I can come up with something that will work”, Chris said.

You have to remember that that brother Chris is really good at finding stuff, and normally he gets a really good deal. In addition, Chris thinks ‘out of the box’, often coming up with some pretty wild ideas.

Just a couple of days later, Chris came in all excited. “How about this idea?” he asked. “I found an antique caboose for only $3,500. We can move it here and run the garden store right out of it.” Geez, I thought to myself; this is a really wild idea, one that I doubted anyone had ever tried of before.

“I’m not sure Chris. It’s possible, and we could probably do it but I don’t think a caboose sitting in the middle of a field surrounded by trees would be very appealing to the customers. Let me think about it for a day or two”, I suggested. Chris was still really excited about the prospect and agreed that while I thought about whatever it was I was going to think about, he would work out the details of how to move the old caboose and how to deal with it once it arrived.

It took me a couple of days, but when the idea came, I got real excited, real fast. “Ok Chris, I’ve got it. We won’t just drop the caboose in the middle of the field. We’ll put it about 75 feet north of the house. Then we’ll build some kind of decking and trellising between the two and add a nice cedar fence behind the decking. With the length of the house, decking & trellising and caboose, our operation will be over 150 long and look really cool – and big. What do you think”, I asked after I took a long breath.

Brother Chris had done his part too. “I talked to some guys and found one that has a big flatbed truck with train rails mounted on the bed. When he moves a train car, he tilts the bed down and has big hydraulic wench to pull the car up onto the bed. Then he drives to the new location, tilts the bed back down again and lowers the train car on the railroad tracks. I found some railroad ties and tracks; we can install them right where we want them and our new caboose would sit there nice and pretty – like it was there all the time.”

The plan was taking shape nicely, but we didn’t have much time. We got together with a landscape architect we had used in the past, and we came up with a loose conceptual plan that we liked. Then we went to work and built the decking, trellising and fencing, measuring everything precisely in preparation for the arrival of the caboose. After building our short little railroad (40 feet long), the caboose arrived and was successfully launched on its new set of tracks. Wow, we thought it all looked great – and affordable! The whole deal cost just short of $20,000, the last of our lifetime savings.

Another one of our buddies, an electrician, ran juice to the caboose and we bought an old, used cash register and put it on the table inside the ‘dining’ area of our new railroad car. We called up our brother Jim’s college buddy, Joe McCrossan who was in the asphalting business, McCrossan Construction.  Joe agreed to install a small asphalt parking lot for what we thought was a pretty good price (it’s nice to have buddies). He even agreed to give us a couple of months before we had to pay for the work he did for us. A good thing because we were pretty much broke by that time.

Mickman Brothers
Great Northern Garden Center
1987

Well, despite the multitude of obstacles, we completed this project on the Thursday before May 1^st – just in time for the Spring Garden Store season. Because all the commuters traveling down Hwy 65 had been watching all this craziness for the past few weeks, and we ran an ad in the Anoka Shopper, we had a very successful ‘Grand Opening’ that weekend. We sold almost $5,000 worth of trees and shrubs – and talked to a number of new, potential landscaping and Lawn Sprinkler customer!

We were in the Garden Center business!

That was all over 35 years ago. Much has changed over all these years, and with our many dedicated, hard working staff members, we have thrived. Step by step, never taking too big of a bite, we have grown our building complex to include 15,000 feet of glass greenhouses, a nice big warehouse including offices, and another attached office building. And of course our beautiful retail Garden Store – which looks like an antique Railroad Depot (go figure!).

 Business now happens at the speed of light, and it is difficult to keep up with the pace of commerce in our new world. But one thing hasn’t changed: We still have our original caboose, albeit in a different spot than it once was. When I’m introduced to new people in our community, the most common response is, “Oh yes, I know Mickman Brothers. You’re the garden center with the caboose!”

Note: There is another thing about Mickman Brothers that hasn’t changed over the years; we never shy away from new, original ideas. I’m sure that our openness to consider new ideas, technologies and processes is one of the things that has enabled us to prosper all these years; that, and a lot of hard work. But, if you ask our mother Lucy, she will say it’s because she and our dad raised us right.

You decide…

John S. Mickman

President

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An Ode to Jim - The Lover of Life

Do you know Dr. James Mickman?’

Dr. James Mickman

the people would ask.

‘Oh, you mean my brother Jimmy’,

In whose glow I would proudly bask.

Jim was so much to so many.

A nurturing friend – even as a boy.

Gently learning how to know

and nurture friendships that

would last a lifetime, and always grow.

The reader – a voracious student.

Of history, of biography’s, and of literature.

Jim learned much and shared his knowledge,

all of which we were so sure.

The adventurer – traveling the world over.

Riding his thumb, a train or a bike.

Amassing stories to tell to his vast wealth

Of friends and family. Much to our delight!

An avid sailor – a lover of the sea.

A more spirited sailor there shall never be.

Brother Jim was my lifelong sailing partner,

Another I will never have like he.

The family man – so in love with Sarai,

his best friend; the love of his life.

And the proud papa of Amelia and Sophia.

His mother’s son, whose love shone like God’s light.

A noble man - never wanting to miss anything,

we are all so sorry he will miss so much to come.

But Jim left us all with a richer life.

He will be with us always – and then some.

But most of all - the beautiful lover.

We could see the love in the depth of his eyes

And savor it as it filled us 

Like the vast eternity of a deep blue sky.

I wish I were more like Jim.

To live my life as I learned from him.

by brother John

Easter Weekend at the Garden Center!

2013 Easter Weekend events

Open House March 29th:

We are hosting an exclusive Garden Club only Open House on Friday, March 29th from 6 to 8 PM. You and a guest are invited to our Growing Greenhouses to see the latest, hottest annual flowers and color combinations! After the tour, enjoy free refreshments and listen as Suzy shares some 'Early Spring Gardening' hints and tips. Register for door prizes, including gift cards, Easter blooming plants and a Grand Prize $100 Garden Center gift card! We also have a special Garden Center coupon for all of our attending guests!

Easter Egg Hunt March 30th:

Kids 10 and under can hunt for Easter Eggs in the Garden Center. The Easter Egg Hunt runs from noon to 2PM. Also, while you're here pick up your Coloring Contest picture. Turn in your completed coloring contest entry by Sunday, April 7th for a chance to win a giant stuffed bunny!

The Easter Bunny will also be visiting the Garden Center for pictures from 10AM to 2PM on Saturday, March 30th! Take a photo with the Easter Bunny and receive a FREE 4x6 commemorative photograph to take home.

We really hope you can join us Easter weekend.

Meg McLean

Garden Center Manager

www.mickman.com

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The Bullfrog - John S. Mickman

30 years ago, our company was much smaller and our ‘home office’ was actually at my family’s farmstead in Ham Lake. This particular Spring, we had only one Lawn Sprinkler Installation Crew with barely enough work to keep them working. However, I was confident sales would pick up once the weather turned warm, but it was a very slow start to that season.

Towards the end of May, things were looking a little better; in addition to a number of other projects, we sold a huge Lawn Sprinkler Project on top of the clay bluff in West St. Paul. Based upon getting this project, I hired a bright eyed, bushy tailed young man named Jeff Sutter. Jeff had some experience as he had worked in his dad’s small lawn sprinkler business, and although just out of high school, I recognized great potential in Jeff.

So, I gave him the best laborers I could find, supplied him with the technical support he needed, purchased a new (used) pipe puller and away he went with his crew to the Fox Ridge Townhouse Project. Each day he would return from Fox Ridge and color in on the Master Irrigation Plan how far he had gotten that day and we would discuss the next day’s work and what his goals for that day would be. This turned out to be a very good job for us, albeit, not without issues. However, Jeff proved to be an excellent foreman and great problem solver; all went well.

At the conclusion of this two month project, Jeff and I went to the site to do the ‘Final Walk Through’ with the Project Architect and owner. I wasn’t worried as I had visited the site many, many times and everything worked great and all the lawns were plush and green – in spite record heat and the rock hard clay Jeff and his crew had to battle with each day.

Well, wouldn’t you know it; during the inspection, one of the big, automatic zone valves ‘stuck on’ and the water on that section of the big irrigation system wouldn’t turn off. So, Jeff stayed to tear the underground valve apart to see what the problem was, while I took the owner and architect to inspect the rest of the site. Every other part of the system was perfect, and at the end of the inspection, the architect suggested to the owner that they go over some other aspects of the project; they would look at that last zone with the sticky valve before they left.

So, I walked over to the other end of the site to see how Jeff was doing. When I arrived, he was on his knees, had bailed out the big hole he had had to dig to expose the valve and was just taking the last of the dozen screws out to remove the valve cap. I got down to help him, as he pulled the big valve apart along with the diaphragm, spring, solenoid, etc. After he removed these parts, I examined the valve casing; everything looked good. Jeff discovered a small pebble blocking a communication journal in the valve cap and removed it. Then, just as we were going re-assemble the valve, a huge bullfrog leaped into the big puddle we were working over, then jumped into the valve casing in the middle of the puddle. Jeff and I both fell into the muddy puddle trying to grab the frog by its legs before it disappeared into the mainline pipe, and I managed to grab the frog by one of his toes. Unfortunately, I never found out which toe, because he slipped out of my grasp and into the innards of the irrigation Mainline!

We couldn’t believe it; what were the odds that a bullfrog would decide to jump into our puddle and into this valve – right during this big inspection! Well, Jeff had the idea that since the frog had gone up into the intake side of the valve, maybe we could flush him out by turning on the big 2” mainline water valve. Good idea: I volunteered to be the guy that turned on the water, around the corner and 150 yards away. Jeff would be the guy to stay by the puddle and watch for the frog to come out.

So, up I went to the mainline valve and turned it on full blast as fast as I could (thinking this would surprise the frog and scare him out of the valve). I waited about 15 seconds, turned off the valve, then ran back around the corner of the townhouse in hopes that Jeff would give me the high-sign that we were Frog-Free.

No such luck, and Jeff was soaked to the gills from the big blast of water. After jogging back to ask Jeff if he was sure the frog hadn’t gotten blown out (maybe he missed the frog in the maelstrom of water that had gushed out of the pipe?!), he reported that he was certain he hadn’t missed the frog; ‘couldn’t I tell how closely he was watching be seeing how soaking wet he was???’

“Well OK”, I said, “Let’s try one more time, and as long as you’re all wet already, why don’t you stay here and watch and I’ll turn on the water again”. “John, I really don’t think it’s going to help to try this again. If we could flush him out, he would be flushed out already!” Jeff exclaimed. “Well geez Jeff”, I replied. “What if we put this whole valve back together and he gets all jammed up in there and we have to take the valve all apart again?” Jeff agreed, “Alright, one more try but let’s make it a good one. Keep the valve on for like 30 seconds or until I shout up to you that the frog is gone.”

So, up I went, turned on the water and went back around the corner to see how Jeff was doing. The water, with 65 PSI of pressure, was blowing up almost 10 feet in the air and cascading down all over Jeff. I’m sure over a hundred gallons of water came out during this second flushing, all over Jeff. This was quite a sight, and I wanted to laugh, but didn’t have the heart. After waiting almost half a minute I ran back and turned off the water valve.

I then returned to see how Jeff was doing; he wasn’t doing too well. He was really soaked now, and still no Bull Frog! We decided to put the valve back together and try it out.

At just about that time, the architect and owner sauntered up to us and asked how it was going; the architect said he had to leave in just a few minutes. “Well, we just about have ‘er fixed up”, I reported. “We found a piece of gravel in the valve and now Jeff here is putting the valve back together.” Jeff finished up re-assembling the automatic valve, I walked to the main valve, turned it on (and crossed my fingers).

The now reassembled valve turned on perfectly as we turned the zone valve on and off a number of times and all the sprinkler heads on that big zone operated just as they should. Then, with no warning, the heads all went to ½ pressure for about 2 seconds, then turned back on again – all but one sprinkler at the end of the line. At that point the architect and owner were satisfied when I told them we would fix that one last head, they signed off on the Final Punch List, congratulated us on a job well done and left.

After they disappeared around the corner, Jeff and I discussed different scenario’s as to why the sprinklers had lost pressure like that, and what the heck was wrong with that one last sprinkler head that wasn’t working at all? We took the sprinkler head apart and what do you think we found? The Bull Frog! He had gotten flushed through the workings of the automatic valve, washed along all the piping in the zone to the last sprinkler head and gotten smushed into the filter. Jeff and I couldn’t stop laughing. He was a soaking mess, and I wasn’t in much better shape with all the muddy water from trying to catch the Bull Frog. “And you had him by the toe and almost caught him!”, Jeff gasped. I had tears in my eyes from laughing, “Did you ever have Bull Frog by the toe Jeff?” I giggled. “They’re too slippery to hold on to!”

We have had many, many strange things happen to us over the years after installing thousands of underground, automatic Irrigation Systems (including the system at the Target Field). But that was the only time we had any problems with Bull Frogs. Thankfully!

I am proud to announce that Jeff Sutter is in his 30^th year at Mickman Brothers, and he is now our General Manager. It is professionals like Jeff that make our company the leader we are in each our respective industries.

We are proud to have Jeff on our team, as well as all the dozens of other dedicated professionals we have on board to assist our customers. And thank you Jeff of all your dedication, hard work and creative ideas that have helped shape our company (including how to flush a Bull Frog through an automatic irrigation valve!).

John S. Mickman
President