My dad, Walter Sehnert, was a dowser -- a diviner -- a witcher of water. I think he had always had an interest in locating water, using a forked stick, but it was only after he retired from the bakery that he pursued the ancient "art" of Dowsing with a real passion. In his later years, he and Ella, my step-mother, attended the International Dowsers Convention at Danville, Vt., at least twice, and an International Convention in California, in addition to numerous regional meetings throughout the Midwest, which were devoted to the various ways one could use divining rods.

Apparently dowsing for objects (most commonly water) has been around since ancient times, and has always been greeted with a good deal of skepticism. There seems to be two points of view when it comes to the subject of dowsing: 1. Those that believe in it feel that, using one of several types of divining devices, that they can detect emanations of energy, or radiations, or vibrations caused by the thing that they are dowsing. On the other side, 2. A good many people believe that the "Dowser" is under the influence of suggestions or expectations, which has caused a certain effect on his involuntary and unconscious motor behavior (which causes the divining device to move).

Whether you swear by dowsing, or swear at it, the fact is that dowsers all over the world regularly use divining instruments to find water, and pinpoint the best location for a new well. Some oil exploration teams, even with the sophisticated scientific methods that are now available, still use the services of a dowser in choosing the exact spot to drill on an oil lease property. In Germany builders are required to have a dowser inspect a building site for noxious rays (which might contaminate the site) before they are issued a building permit.

My dad was most comfortable in dowsing for water, which he did often on his own farm. He also helped farmers in Northeast Nebraska to find the best location for a new well. He never charged for his service. He was enough of a realist to know that he would not always be successful and didn't want to take responsibility in case of failure.

The ability to dowse seems to be a gift (?) that a person either has or hasn't. One can learn various techniques, but to be successful one really needs to believe in the process. Dad sought to help me to dowse on a number of occasions. I was a hopeless case. So was Ella, my step-mother. When they attended the big dowsers convention in Danville Dad and Ella always attended the Dowsers' School, to learn new techniques, and practice in a field, which had been "salted" with various artifacts. After attending the school for a second year the instructor took Ella aside and suggested she take up another hobby.

"Some folks just don't have the gift," he told her as gently as he could. I understood just how she felt. Dowsing did not come easily for me either.

Dad and Ella enjoyed the conventions in Danville, where they formed friendships with like-minded people from every state and even foreign countries. They assumed that they would find a similar climate at the Dowsers' Convention in Los Angeles. They were wrong. When they returned from that trip they were quite shaken. Where the Danville Dowsers had concentrated on finding water and oil and hidden objects, with a bit of map dowsing, the Los Angeles Dowsers leaned toward the occult and contacting spirits and "spooky stuff." They never returned to California for another Dowsers meeting there.

At the RV park in Texas, where they wintered for a number of years, Dad became something of a celebrity when he successfully advised the park maintenance crew in locating a buried water pipe, which they knew was leaking, but they did not know where to dig. His instructions were exact, and saved the park considerable expense.

It was at this park where I witnessed a demonstration that convinced me that there must be something to this business of dowsing. One day the fellow who delivered propane to the park patrons stopped to fill Dad's tanks. Dad had two tanks and instructed the fellow to fill one of them. When asked about the second he told him that it was nearly full. "How do you know it's full? The gauge is broken," the fellow said. "I know because I dowsed it with my divining rod," Dad replied. The fellow started to laugh -- an unbeliever. He covered the dial on his propane truck with his hand. "OK, if that stick of yours is so smart, tell me how much propane I've got in my big tank." Dad waved his wand up and down over the tank and put his finger at a spot about a third of the way up on the tank. "Well, I'll be d-----d, if that don't beat all." He was still mumbling as he drove away. The dial on the truck's tank indicated exactly one third full.

People were always trying to get Dad to dowse for things besides water, which he was reluctant to do, but often went along and tried to accommodate his friends. One fellow was sure that there was gold on his land, at a place where water bubbled to the surface, creating two streams, one flowing north to the Niobrara River, the other flowing south, to the Elkhorn. Dad dowsed the site and the results were negative -- no gold. The gold colored film on the water turned out to be iron oxide.

One lady was sure that there was oil on her land, which Dad agreed appeared to be so, though he could only get a general reading of oil, over her entire farm. Subsequent drillings by oil companies found much oil and eventual producing wells on each quarter.

One time the Norfolk, Neb., police contacted Dad for help in finding a teenage girl who had been missing for several weeks. Dad attached her picture to his wand, and swung a pendulum over a map of Nebraska. He was unable to get a location, but when specific questions were asked, the pendulum indicated that the girl was dead. Later the girl's body was found buried in a shallow grave. That experience unnerved Dad and he vowed to never get involved again in searching for missing persons. He never did.

Each year, when Dad and Ella returned from the South he had some sort of new tool for divining. One year this tool was a wand, from which a spring with a pendulum was attached. After supper one night he was giving demonstrations to our family, using his new gadget to locate coins hidden in the room. While he was so engaged Matt's friends stopped by to pick up Matt, on their way to the movies.

Like all young fellows, they were intrigued with the performance, and each in turn tried his hand at "dowsing." After a time Dad mentioned that he could also measure a person's aura -- a halo that surrounds one's body. By measuring the aura one could detect weaknesses in a person's health. "OK, Poppa," said Matt. Measure Kent's aura. See what you can find." Kent was a fine athlete, the quarterback on the football team, and in great physical shape. Dad had never met Kent before.

Dad began his measurement of Kent's aura, starting at his side, below the waist and over the top of his head and down the other side. The pendulum stayed about 6" away from his body. "Wow, Kent," said Dad, you've got a really strong aura. You must in great shape". Just then the pendulum swung abruptly in, striking Kent's body at his knee. "Do you have knee problems, Kent?" Dad asked. "Yeah," said Kent. "I go in Monday for arthroscopic surgery."

There was a stunned silence for a long moment -- and a new batch of believers in Walter's Wonderful Witching Wand.