The Gift

This is a short story about my near-death experience as a child and the lasting effects I received from that incident. What occurred to me in the early 1960's, feels like a special gift, one I feel compelled to share with others. This story has brought comfort to those that know me, so I hope by sharing my story that some comfort can be brought to those fearing death. More

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Words: 1,790
Language: American English
ISBN: 9781301537174
About Gerald Sorenson

Born in 1959, and spending the first 6 years of my life on a farm in northern Minnesota, gave me a wonderful early childhood, filled with adventure. Only a few miles from Lake of The Woods, meant we fished for walleyes quite often. The woods offered comfort and opportunity to explore and create. I would make a bow and arrows from the red willow shrubs that grew on our property, using twine to string the bow. In 1966 we lost the battle to the Timber wolves, sold the farm and moved to Boise Idaho for 3 years. I loved it there and cried hard when it came time to move. Fargo, ND became our next resting place, so I spent the next 7 summers working on my mom's parents farm in Clearbrook, MN. In 1977, we moved to Moorhead, MN to the edge of the country, where we could ride our snowmobiles and park them in our yard. The country always seemed like home to me and over the years I ended up buying 2 different hobby farms,(long story) raising the kids in the country with horses, calves, and chickens. I am remarried and living in Lake country, which is perfect for me, as I am now close to some of the best fishing around. My wife and I enjoy riding our bikes on The Heartland trail, with the majority of the paved trail built on an old railroad bed. The Paul Bunyan trial is also another good place to ride, as the trails are paved and well maintained.
In the fall I head back up north to my roots for our annual deer hunt, which gathers all of my siblings and many of our children. We process all of the venison ourselves, so the more hands the merrier. While sitting up in my various tree stands, visions of my parents, grand parents, and great grandparents come to me, as I reflect on the early rough life they had, clearing the land in order to farm and scrape a living from the ground.

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