By Jim Tindall
Warhaven can boast of many things, of scores of civic accomplishments, of individuals of valor past and present, stout with integrity, love of neighbor and family, commonweal. It is one of our rapidly dwindling American communities that continues to live the Jeffersonian ideal where small family farms are the heartbeat of society and culture. This is the result, in no small part, of the agronomists and foresters and sustenance gardeners who shepherded this husbandry through the decades up to the present.
When it came time to fill city council seats, there had very rarely been an uncontested race, which simply amazed and befuddled nearby towns. Citizenship has always been alive in the Rushing River Valley. This success in governance and volunteerism has its root in education. Civics is taught at three grade levels and has been since the district’s inception, at the fourth, eighth, and junior grades. In fact, a student can still not promote from the eighth grade to the freshman level without successfully passing a test on the U.S. Constitution. More students than we care to count end up in summer school for this hurdle—but look at the results!
What luck, what prudence, what assistance of Providence that so many in Warhaven contribute to the nurturing and nourishing of the town. Something about our farmers that appreciates, respects democracy, maintaining capitalism at the community level without the heavy-handed manipulation of faceless, soulless corporations. This all manifests itself in the election process here at the confluence of the Big and Rushing rivers.
On the Plateau, George Ansbach drove over to the Amish twins’ spread for a late afternoon break and chat over a bottle of their home-made green river soft drink. He met John and his wife Louisa on their patio and were joined shortly by Jacob and his wife Hannah, who brought her famous ginger sugar cookies, complemented by blue and green sprinkles. The four of them were big supporters of Warhaven High School’s Mighty Sequoia wrestling program. George spoke his mind, encouraging the family to consider contributing to Warhaven’s leadership, and then he departed.
The four Hershberger adults practiced what might be described as a practical joke cult or cabal. Each lived for the exhilaration of springing the trap of this wicked humor’s incredulity upon one or more of them. It was a lively competition that was at the essence of their extended family’s loving culture. On this issue, they bantered their way to commitment.
Seriously they debated the notion of charitable civic responsibility as a positive and local politics and its potential contentiousness as a negative. While all four believed it to be a duty, none stepped forward to volunteer his or her candidacy. So, it was agreed they would pull straws.
It was Louisa that won — or lost — the dubious honor to file as a candidate for the Plateau seat on the Warhaven City Council. Her brother-in-law volunteered to run a lemonade stand, smirking, in order to fund her campaign. She smiled curtly, saying, “I accept.” He tried to hem and haw but the eyes of the others bore down upon him, and, well, honor is honor.
At the Fourth of July picnic Jacob set up his lemonade stand. In his favor it was a sweltering afternoon and thus his sweet lemonade sold swiftly. With donations he raised a little over $900! Orin approached him and invited Jacob to set up shop at the upcoming Pioneer Day picnic the 24th.Proceeds from both events bought a lot of yard signs and postage stamps.
Also filing for the Plateau seat was curmudgeon farmer Tommy Twilling, who seemed to thrive off disagreements that consistently kept the other party weary. Gus Chapman used to address him as “the Count of Contention” for his passion for squabbling. Twilling was entertaining enough if you were an observer, but his dialectics tended to grow tedious and tiring. Tommy was much better at farming legumes and grasses than he was at political debate and fence mending. Tommy also grew raspberries, but he preferred the black and golden to the red, which caused some suspicion about town and certain disdain among the red raspberry fanatics.
Wilbur Weston, one of the three principals of River Currents Power, owned a fine home up the West Hills with a glorious vista of the Big. He enjoyed ending his day sitting in his living room looking across the Rushing River Valley. He was partial to Warhaven Wines and their pinot gris, which he was sipping when Orin Holman knocked on his door.
Orin was offered refreshment, but he declined.
“I won’t stay long, Wilbur. I am retiring from the city council, and I think you would make a strong candidate of integrity to fill the West Hills seat.”
Wilbur smiled. “When you put it like that, Orin, it sounds like I may be duty-bound.”
Orin laughed. “Well, that feeling of yours is something the town has fostered since the get-go. Please give it some serious thought.”
“I will do that.”
Orin retreated, praying on the hope of Wilbur accepting the invitation, which he did the following morning by phone.
Additionally, at filing time, Sven Delig, director of the Warhaven Care Center, threw his hat into the ring. He knew city governance and politics as well as anyone.
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