Contributing writer
When I was a little girl, I loved my Grandpa Schubert’s shelter belt on the farm. My mother told me that he had planted it when she was a child. It was full of big, tall trees and the birds came to nest in their branches. Mom told me that a shelter belt was one of those government ideas to save the land and protect the people.
My grandpa’s lane went along the south side of the shelter belt, from the county road all the way to the house. In winter, that belt of trees caught the snow and made it easier to keep the lane clear so they could go to church or just drive into town on a Saturday night. A shelter belt is still a good thing to have in Kansas.
The other day I realized that trees are not the only shelter belts we experience in life. A neighborhood can be a shelter belt, where like-minded people provide a safe place. Come to think of it, our homes are the ultimate shelter belts, four walls enclosing those we love while all kinds of wind whirl outside. A family should be a shelter belt; circles of friends are a wonderful shelter belt.
I realized the other day that Tooltime Tim was our Kansas shelter belt. Already planted here, he became our protector even before we moved to Ramona in 2000. He stood, like a mighty row of cedars, between us and all kinds of stormy weather. Tim’s sheltering expertise came into play before we even moved to Kansas.
It was time for the Schubert family reunion and we had special guests coming for the event.
“Let’s fix up that bathroom at Cousin’s Corner,” we said one night shortly after we’d arrived. “That’s a horrible place. We need to remove that old portable shower, fix the toilet, raise the ceiling, and while we’re at it, get a bigger window installed and maybe a new sink.”
We had two weeks.
“Don’t you think we can do it?” we asked optimistically. Not!
When we came up against some immoveable objects, we ran for Tim. And this is when he got his nickname, Tooltime Tim, because he not only came to our rescue but he came with tools.
Tim was our shelter belt, even then, when we were too optimistic and too naïve to even know that we needed help in this environment.
When the north wind blew and our pipes froze underneath the Ramona House, it was Triple T who came to our rescue. Through the years, there have been so many ways that Tim was our shelter belt. When this huge, old pig wandered into town, it was Tim who kicked him in the behind to get him out of our yard while I called the owner. When dogs killed my chickens, it was Tim who had the gun. He was the protector of the birdfeeder from squirrels, the pond from raccoons, our kittens from stray tomcats. He solved problems with one word or a well-placed boot.
Without even realizing it, I came to depend on his brand of country expertise.
When Tim died in March, it was as if someone came in with a chain saw and mowed down the shelter belt. Now we can feel the north wind blowing through our domain. Things that once felt so easy to accomplish, whether it was a remodeling project or an event, were now gargantuan tasks. No wonder Ramona had felt so safe — we had the gift of a shelter belt at our back, all these years. We were his shelter, too. There was always give and take, but especially at the end of his life, the tables turned and we stood strong for him.
Now that TTT is gone, I feel like it’s the wild west in Ramona, and that I need a six-shooter on my hip so that I can protect myself — only I haven’t a lot of experience (or the stomach) for those kinds of shoot-from-the-hip transactions.
When a marauding tomcat threatened my newly neutered cat, I only had a broom for defense. When the neighbor’s dog decimated my chickens, I grabbed a stick. So, I actually bought a little B.B. gun to deter wildlife. I’m inexperienced and a terrible shot, so if I hit anything I would be surprised, but the noise at least seems to make things run.
It’s another day in the country and guess what I’m doing? Target practice!