ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER
November brings memories of father and son getting ready for the big deer hunt in Wisconsin. Son was only three years old when dad took him on his first excursion in the woods. No weapons, just a walk crunching through the mulch of autumn. Those years of bonding weren’t wasted. The boy became a man and followed in his father’s footsteps, becoming an avid hunter and lover of nature. The stories told around the campfire or inside of the hunting shack were endless. The comradery priceless. The painting today shows a doe feeding on the edge of the forest – most likely done from the warmth of a building housing a potbellied stove. I wrote this poem on 11/24/16. It is reminiscent of the kitchen centerpiece that stood fearlessly in the center of my grandparent’s farmhouse. If it could talk, I’m certain the stories would’ve been many.
The old iron fortress stood ready and tall within the empty room.
Wood stacked at one side – boots and mittens there dried,
But no one would share in the warmth that it’s belly consumed.
The snow outside glistened, no footprints did lead to the door,
The smoke lifted high to the stars in the sky,
The only one home was an old, tired soul who lay curled up asleep on the floor.
He had worked all day long, chopping wood for the old iron beast.
So he took to the floor, like he had once before,
And fell fast asleep while waiting alone for a fabulous feast.
His dreams soon were shattered by voices that chattered outside,
He rose to his feet. At the door he did meet,
All the friends from his past who long since had gone on and died.
As each person walked by, they could hear the man cry and in a soft murmur he said, You once were my friends but where’ve you been all my life, My children have died and for them I’ve cried, yesterday I lost my wife, Within just an instant he knew God had called him to his eternal rest,
This new life that it gave him, would no more enslave him,
The warmth of his Savior was beyond so much more than the very best of the best.

Wow, Kathy! So heart-wrenching, then so miraculous!
I love the picture, too!
Blessings~💖
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Thank you for your kind comments. I have fond memories of that pot bellied stove. I recall grandma setting bread atop to let it rise. Mittens also would be placed there to dry and boots filled with snow would sit at the bottom.
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Such sweet memories, Kathy.
My great aunt and grandma had a pot belly stove. My great aunt would make coffee or tea in the old percolators then leave them sitting to stay warm on top. She said it killed two birds with one stone, it kept the coffee or tea hot and humidified the room! Smart lady!
Blessings, my friend~
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It’s fun to hear other’s stories too.
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Great story
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Thanks my friend🙏🏻
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