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I am playing soccer again this fall with the Waverly Shell Rock Soccer Association (WSRSA). This is my 4th year playing with Waverly-Shell Rock. WSRSA is a non-profit organization run by volunteers. We are doing a fundraiser to provide operational support especially for our soccer fields. We have a great soccer complex, but we need to cover our expenses to keep it that way.
I am hoping that you will help by buying some products from me. It is really easy to order online and they are shipped directly to you. Products include kitchen knives and utensils, soup and dip mixes, cook books, soy candles and stoneware. The products are American made, mostly right here in Waverly.
To place orders online:
1. Go to www.HelpOurFundraiser.com
2. Enter Ordering #: 501488 Password: wsrsa
3. Select merchandise and check out. (When you check out, there is a place to select my name as the "fundraiser." This will give me credit for the sale and qualify me for prizes!)
4. Orders will be delivered to the address provided in 15 working days, or less.
5. This account will remain open all year so if you can’t get to it right now, you can do it later!
If you prefer to make a tax-deductible monetary donation or if you have questions please call my mom at 319-230-3476.
I appreciate your help and support!
Thank you,
Emily
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Daisy the rabbit was born in 2005 on a farm in rural Butler County, Iowa. In June, 2005, she was adopted by Emily Archibald and made her home in Clarksville.
Daisy never married and never had children but she remained young at heart. She enjoyed jumping around in her cage, chewing on her chew toys, and even ventured into the yard once in a while. Her favorite foods were rabbit food, timothy hay, grass, and rice cakes.
Daisy went to be with Jesus on Tuesday, September 8, 2009. It is believed she died of natural causes. She is survived by her owner, Emily, the torment of her life - Gavin, her beloved caretaker - Sami, and her co-pets Otis and Bonzai. She was preceded in death by Mia the hamster, numerous fish and birds, good rabbit-friends Johnny and Sue, and Buddy the dog.
Burial took place on the east end of her hometown in the family pet burial plot.
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Story by Anelia K. Dimitrova in Waverly Democrat newspaper
A troupe of 10 geese and two ducks stole the show at Heritage Days this weekend.
Led by Paul Messerchmidt, a self-proclaimed Gooseman, the colorful group strutted down the parade route, drawing cheers and applause.
For most of their action-filled walk, the geese stayed in a pack, occasionally flapping their wings to shake off road dust and make sure their outfits, designed by Paul’s sister, Patty, flattered their figures.
After five years in the show business, 89 parades, three state and four county fairs, they knew their routine down to a feather.
They were as synchronized as the Rockettes, as harmonized as the Beatles and as smooth in their street swagger as the Michael Jackson moonwalk.
On cue from their owner’s 6-foot-long wooden staff, the starlets-in-the-making posed for pictures, gawked at the cameras, and much to the crowd’s consternation, sipped Mountain Dew from a wide-mouth bottle, a feat so irresistible that even the sternest-looking spectators eked out a smile.
An occasional brave kid agreed to hold the soft-drink bottle and, with Paul’s encouragement, stayed in place as the beaks approached at an alarming speed.
Adorned with peacock feathers, Paul, a Santa-like, soft-spoken, soon-to-be 52-year-old, was without question, the master of the show.
Just five years ago, he was 430 pounds, toting around an oxygen tank, and barely coping with a debilitating lung disease he developed after working as a foreman for the railroad for 21 years.
Today, he is as agile as his flock, which he rightfully considers his family.
Behind the scenes, he is “mom and pap” to his feathered friends, rehearsing with them their daily routine of staying calm in the company of curious and crying kids, walking down a street as music blares from fair booths and parade floats and performing the signature showstopper ��“ drinking from the hands of strangers.
As a businessman, he is also the talent agent of his brainchildren. He nicknamed them the Puddle Jumpers after their first accomplishment ��“ to play in muddy water. Their act has matured so much that Paul is now vying for a Pepsi commercial contract.
He even carries a $1 million liability insurance in case his performers run out of patience and peck a pesky kid or two. A separate $300,000 insurance will replace the existing obligations should one of the geese die unexpectedly.
Judging by the crowd’s response, a Puddle Jumpers’ ad could easily outperform the Aflac duck because the Modale, Iowa ��“ based troupe has earned their fame one town at a time.
In Missouri Valley, the place where the Puddle Jumpers nurtured their spunk, the beginning was as humble as a hatchling’s feathers. Paul had been raising geese for food, but when the doctor told him he would either lose weight or die, he found a role for the baby geese in his shed.
“I am mama and papa,” Paul says. “They had seen nothing else and I started doing voice commands with them. I was just messing around. I fell into it by accident.”
The man and the geese started developing their own babble, a mix of English and goose gobbledygook.
Turn left is "muk" and turn right is "nuk." Have a sip of my soda is "Kukkuk."
“Wait for your turn” repeated three times in English and with adamant tone means what it does to every child.
Speaking in tongues as they went, the first week of training, they walked a block a day.
The next week, Paul upped the regimen to two blocks and found additional pleasure in embarrassing his children and hearing comments like, “Come to see this fat man walking the geese.”
But they kept on walking.
The bond forged in this unwritten contract was as tight as it gets.
It helped Paul escape the surgeon’s scalpel and the geese ��” the butcher’s knife.
"I saved them from the stew pot and they saved me from the grave,” Paul jokes.
The first year they walked for free in 15 parades, then in 26 the second year, until they realized they should take the show on the road and make money doing it.
In their third year, they performed at 46 events, in their fourth in 64 and in their fifth year in 97 events.
In their sixth year, they have amassed an impressive record: 302 towns, and 411 miles.
Like a real show cast, the Puddle Jumpers are no strangers to romance. Flyby and his bride, Wrongway, had four kids, but only one, Pety, survived.
“They all have girlfriends, or live-ins as I call them, " Paul says.
Like people, the geese have their favorite drinks. Crybaby drinks red Gatorade. From time to time, she wears a medal around her neck ��“ Paul’s tribute for service to the railroad.
He tells kids a much more glamorous story, saying that the fancy feathered bird earned the medal at the Goose Olympics, a joke that elicits a wide-eyed “wow.”
Each one of the Puddle Jumpers is unique. Their personalities are mirrored in their names.
Wrongway is always confused about direction. Mr. Book, who spent his baby days napping under Paul’s chest-long beard, got his name pecking on the back of a newspaper and even received a real card issued to him from the local library.
Celebrity names are just as fitting.
Blue Eyes is named after Frank Sinatra, George occasionally carries a drum in homage of the Beatles drummer, and James Dean takes after the Hollywood actor.
Their wardrobe is as diverse as a Hollywood cast.
“We have stars and stripes for the soldiers, backpacks for the kids and hairpieces I bought at the dollar store that looked like wigs for anybody over 65 that grew up in the hippie days,” says Paul.
With life expectancies of about 20 years, the Puddle Jumpers maintain a diet as rigorous as a fast food chain’s.
They drink seven types of soda, munch on macaroni and cheese, watermelon and other table scraps. They disdain beer and turned down several offers at the Fairgrounds, walking past the frothy sinful temptation as if they were sworn members of the temperance society.
But what is truly fascinating to the crowds is the discipline, which seems to come as naturally to the Puddle Jumpers as swimming in the river comes to their wild counterparts.
“The first few years it was about me and the geese, now it’s all about the people,” Paul says, adding his comedy routine to the mix.
“A lot of the women will ask me how long it takes me to train my flock. I say most of them are boys. I do train husbands. It takes about a year, that’s how long it took me [to train the geese]. I do train wives, you pay me by the month, and if I have to trade them, it’s double, you may get something better or you may have something worse, but if I like them, I may keep them myself.”
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