Left To Write

My best friend Bradley and I were Cub Scout participants.  It was a wonderful program and we learned so much about ourselves, our abilities, and developing friendships. Advancement was a big part of being a successful scout. During our last year of the program, at age 11, we decided we had enough knowledge to go on a solo camping adventure.

Bradley lived on a farm about seven miles from our little town in central Montana. It was a flatland farming community. Acres and acres of crops such as wheat, barley, durum and oats covered the country side. His family raised a few cattle to supplement their income. Farmers were at the mercy of Mother Nature in that part of the world so hedging a bet with cattle was not uncommon. 

We picked up knowledge from manuals, other group adventures, and listening to our leaders and older members of Scouting about camping. 

We decided we were ready. The handbook told us to make a list of essential items for successful adventure. We did that. Bradley’s dad had a pup tent. We kind of knew how it set up. Check. We found some old binoculars in the garage and although only one lens worked we decided it would suffice. Check. A compass, we didn’t have a clue how it worked but read where it was an absolute necessity in outdoor trekking. Check. Matches. Check. A scout knife. Yes, I had just gotten one the year before for Christmas. Check. We had our own sleeping bags, pillows, and a change of clothing. We had learned to be ready for any change in weather so we packed a couple of winter parkas, just in case. This is Montana, in August, where the temperature is about 85 degrees. You never knew. 

Now food. This was an open subject so we decided to bring packable and easy prep items. We got some carrots and two big potatoes from his Mom’s garden, and some beef jerky from the pantry. A quart of milk, an apple, and a couple of Clarks Bars. We would not starve. We wrapped the vegetables in tin foil and dumped all of our supplies into a large paper bag. We were off. Wait! The manual said we should have some kind of shovel for digging latrines, and fire pits. It showed a picture of a folding backpack tool. We looked around and decided the snow shovel leaning against the back of the house might work. It was quite large and cumbersome but a shovel was on the list of things to bring so we dragged it along.

We debated where we should camp. The farm had 80 acres of hilly pasture land south and east of his home. He had hunted gophers in that area so he knew it would be an easy hike. He did mention that there were occasional coyote sightings up there and they could be heard at night. We decided, after much thought, of setting up camp about fifty yards from the house. We nestled and wrestled our tent up between two rows of caraganas. They were hardy bushes that served as wind breaks for most farms and ranches in this windy dry region. We felt like our set up was well hidden and private. 

The excitement was great, as we were on our own in the wilderness. The first order of business was to build a fire in a safe area. The snow shovel wasn’t exactly easy to use, but we cleared a fire break area about six feet around our chosen site. The plan was to dig a fire pit in the center. That’s what the manual said, so that’s what we did. The actual digging of a hole in that ground was difficult. The shovel was really worthless at this point so we found some old dead branches, sharpened them to a point and stabbed at the earth to loosen it up. Success! We had what we wanted in about an hour. 

There wasn’t an abundance of twigs  and kindling to get our blaze going so we walked up to the barn and grabbed some dried out boards that had, in years gone by, been some kind of a shed. The fire wouldn’t take off as we struggled to get a flame. We had to think on our feet as we were intrepid explorers so Bradley ran back to the house and found a stack of newspapers. We bunched them up in the hole, covered them with small pieces of wood and struck a match. We were down to the last bundle of paper, crouched around the pit and lit our last match. A piece of wood had actually started burning. We were cooking now! 

We added fuel until we had a substantial blaze going. We talked about the fact we should have had some marshmallow or hot dogs. Maybe next time. The bed of coals burned brightly and we moved the embers to the side of the hole, buried our wrapped vegetables and covered them with the hot coals. We decided it would take a while to cook so we went on to other things. 

The farm reservoir was a short distance from our site so we walked over to it. There was something wonderful about a body of water. The water was anything but clear and beautiful. The cattle came in the far side for drinks and sloshed around in it during the hot days. Cattails, water lilies, and other unidentifiable plants adorned the edges of the water. We threw rocks at different targets, waded into the murky liquid, tried to track down a couple of croaking frogs, and talked about getting a jarful of the water and boiling it to drink. We read that in our scout books too. We didn’t do it. Too much work. It was time to eat.

We found we had left the foil wrapped food a little too long. The potato was quite black and the carrot did not look like a carrot. No hot food tonight. We covered the fire pit with dirt and poured enough water on it to drown an elephant. A proper scouting move. The jerky was good and it was cool to drink milk out of the carton without being yelled at. We took turns chomping on the apple. It was a contest to see who could take the last bite. Needless to say only the stem remained in that game. I lost, but didn’t have a bunch of apple seeds in my belly. The chocolate bar for dessert and we were set to roll the sleeping bags out. 

We had to haul straw from the barn to use as a bedding cushion because we had set our tent up on a rock pile and needed something to make things more comfortable. We looked for cattle and coyotes with our monocular and dug a three inch deep moat around the tent in case a monsoon of rain might hit us. The canal would sweep the water away from our domicile. 

It was time for bed. We wrapped up in the sleeping bags and tried to out burp and out fart each other. Each attempt of quality noise, of course, was followed by giggles. It wasn’t dark out yet but dusk was fast approaching. 

Sometime in the next hour or so we had run out of jokes and scary stories. I went to sleep.

Suddenly I was awake. There was an animal at the tent entrance. The coyote had come to drag us away. I heard some noise that I thought was deep growling. I was terrified.

“Tippy, get out of here!” Bradley yelled.

The family dog apparently had come up to see what was going on at the camp. 

The ten o’clock hour came and my camping partner and I were snug and warm and safe in our sleeping bags. A plush pillow cradled my head. The floor of the living room was soft and cushiony. I went to sleep.

 Their first Thanksgiving celebration took place on November 25th, 1976. Two settlers had arrived nearly a month prior on the Queen of the Skies from Heathrow to LAX. Unlike their countrymen who had preceded them by 356 years, they had escaped the ravages of scurvy, but suffered rubber chicken instead. One settler was with child and happy, after ten hours, to leave her cramped accomodations. 

Moving south to Newport Beach, the settlers made their way to the Marriott, Fashion Island, site of an encampment known to the locals as an upscale mall. Here they found clothing hanging on racks in spacious arrangements. This is strange they thought. Surely, clothes should be stacked in piles on a waist-high counter. They wondered how the merchant could make money from such a sparse assortment. They looked at a price tag and understood. 

When recovered from a malady called jet lag, they embarked upon a search for a homestead. A helpful agent inquired if they were seeking a pool or air conditioning. They knew not of these things and declined. The agent conveyed them in a fancy carriage to view various properties and it was decided that they would purchase a rambler in the settlement of Mission Viejo. It needs TLC they were advised but they did not understand. They were told of the crumbling drapes and yellow circles in the shag carpet. They knew of shag and again were confused. 

The settlers went about their appointed tasks; the husband creating a place of manufacture and appointing local citizens to work therein. Meanwhile, the wife arranged for medical assistance with the birth of their child. She and her husband held hands, seated on pillows in a circle with other couples, while a coach directed them to exhale in rapid succession. 

After three weeks had elapsed, they received a generous invitation to a spectacular feast with some local natives, much as their forebears had done. A roasted turkey was brought forth in a manner they found familiar. The patriarch of their family in the old country was an artisan of repute and his precise dissection of the turkey was greatly admired. They were alarmed as their host attacked the turkey with great ferocity while wielding an electric carving knife. His wife brought out a dish of sweetened yams covered with marshmallow. This did create trepidation in the settlers who were unfamiliar with this concoction. 

While consuming this bountiful feast, the settlers learned that they were celebrating a successful harvest. They agreed that this was a worthy cause and remarked upon the fact that turkeys could be obtained without charge if other provisions were also purchased. This had caused them to rejoice that this indeed was the promised land. 

The settlers have remained friends with their native hosts to this day and each family celebrates Thanksgiving with their three children and many grandchildren. 

I was ten years old when the circus came to town. It was quite an event for a community of 300 people.

The tent seemed just as big as the big top circus I had seen on television.  I was enthralled at everything I saw. A clown even talked to me.

I wanted to try my hand at the shooting gallery. The air rifles at the booth were exactly like the BB gun I owned. I had become a pretty good shot with that old Daisy so I felt confident.

I plunked my dime down and was told I needed to hit and knock down small plastic statues three times in a row to win a prize.

The man in the booth pressed a cork into the end of the rifle and stood back. I knocked the first target down with no problem. The second shot was met with the same success. I took my time with the third shot as winning a prize was in the balance. The cork flew out at an angle and missed the target by a foot to the right. Groan.

I was devastated. How could I miss so badly? I walked away dejected. My Dad, a marksman in the Navy during World War II stood beside me and told me to try it one more time. I didn’t have another dime. He took out my entry fee and flipped it to the carnival worker.

Okay, I thought, just aim and fire. Success! I was right on the money with the first two shots. The man pushed a cork into the rifle and I set up to shoot again. My Dad reached over and did something with the cork then encouraged me to sight carefully and knock it down. Bullseye!

I’m sure the prize wasn’t anything more than some trinket, but still the same I had won at a game of skill.

We moved on to buy some cotton candy, and some peanuts to feed the elephant. It was a glorious day.

It was much later that my Dad let me in the carnival scam. If a participant had a chance at winning, the guy manning the booth would push the cork in at an angle, and it would not fire straight.

My Dad saw the scheme and didn’t make a big deal about it, he just gave me an opportunity to succeed and not be a victim of a crooked game. That was my Dad.

The wave of amber grain 

And blue sky meet 

On a sublime autumn day

To feel the sunshine’s heat

The path of dirt and dust 

Leads a way of quiet solitude

Where the crickets play a familiar song

Where no disturbing sound need intrude

And the quiet pall surrounds me

Away from stress and strife

I stay at this place in my mind

A memory of a simple life

An escape from the weight of reality 

In search of days of old

I remember for a time of restful peace

And a glimpse of acts so bold

When living was light and free

Contentment was easily found

Aroused from this dreamy state now 

To search for happiness unbound

I thought I saw a shadow, a glimpse as you went by,

A trick my eyes were playing, I knew, produced a little sigh.

You have been gone from me, but I hear a faint sound there,

The humming of your sweet voice coming from your favorite
rocking chair.

Oh, if I could have one more day to say those things I thought

And take back all the petty things when I became distraught.

The scent of your sweet presence still lingers in the air,

Or am I just imaging, it matters not, for I so care

The memory of our strong love, the fullness of my heart

Will never ever be lost, from my mind, even though we are apart.

It is close to my time to be with you, the distance has been thinned,

Be sure, my love that I will always be

Searching for your face in the wind.

I sit across from you, watching as you stare

At an unknown place beyond my face, your thoughts arriving there

I am a prisoner of your silence, and you the same of me

No words can ease the blade of pain, the tears I only see

That stream down from those lonely eyes, the sadness that must be.

I’ve broken your trust again my love, but words won’t fix the stage,

If you would only raise your voice and let go, some pent up rage.

We sit here playing the same old tune, our dance with so much sorrow.

But I promise you, with a solemn oath,

That I’ll quit drinking tomorrow.

We all live in a world where success is a measure of man

More money, cars, and vacation homes, seem to be the greatest plan

To win is all that matters, no one wants second place

To be looked upon as an abject fool and go home in disdain and disgrace.

Just be the best, the top of the class, the grades to make teachers beam

Forget all else, and always ignore, that there is no “I” in team

Be the cutest, the strongest, most popular, and a star;

To have the most Facebook friends not caring who they are.

To have the perfect wedding, the ring, the flowers, the bride,

And the portfolio of the photographs to show all others with pride

But something happens to our successful man, a stumble along the way,

A mistake, a foul, and errant pass, puts the path in disarray.

I realized, soon, in the world of truth, the way it will always be

Life that is lived, the destiny that I follow is good enough for me.

Yes, I praise the winner, enjoy success, and accept those who disagree

But I love my life, my lot in life, and believe OK is good enough for me.

Are there times in your life when you really slow down and look at the beauty in this world? You know, watching snow covered tree branches finally getting enough warmth to shed its winter coat, or the excitement of the insect world as they discover the open petals of spring plants. They busily move from one blossom to the other to investigate what secrets can be found. Do you hear the sigh of relief from the parched ground as it receives a long overdue rain drop? Do you smell the fresh washed air after a fall rain shower? Do you stop to listen to the silence when it is offered? Do you try to catch sight of a distant bird that chirps some happy tune to itself or perhaps its mate? Can you hear the sheer joy of its much practiced warbled song?

There are more times than not in my life that the sounds and wonders of this world are ignored rather than enjoyed. I get caught up in important, and often unimportant, events in my life that wouldn’t offer my soul and spirit a chance to cleanse itself. If I took just a few minutes each day to view the world as it really was, it is an offering of a fresh view of life. This feeling wouldn’t last for a long time but just the experience was often sufficient.

Let me share a short story and an instance of the awareness of life.

When I was much younger than I am now, struggling to make ends meet, keeping my bosses happy, and trying to provide properly for my family, I would occasionally head to the expansive Gibson Park. I tried to make this visit on a regular basis as part of my new plan to center myself. You see, I found this self-help book at the store. It had a twelve point plan to change my life. The park, or somewhere serene, was point three. 

I found myself sitting on a park bench where I could view a vast grassy area that bordered a children’s play area. About twenty feet in front of me were two little children at play. You would think by the size and look of each child that they may be twins. A little boy and girl dressed similarly with haircuts that matched. They both had a cherubic rosy healthy complexion.

Their mother sat on the other end of the bench engrossed in some book of the month that Oprah or some close friend had probably recommended. It was a beautifully bound hard back book. I preferred to get the discount book stores when they had ten cent sales. I wasn’t that particular about titles or authors or ratings. I could start a story and if it wasn’t to my liking I would toss the book, and grab another.  They were dog eared, discolored, and shop worn but the words were still there.

“Mommy, Jael wants to sit on the grass. Is that alright?” the little boy asked.

Better to ask than to get into trouble later on, but who knew whose idea it really was. Smart kids.

“Just don’t get in the mud puddles by the swings, okay Joel?” They got approval from Mom.

I watched with interest as the two little ones hunched down to look at something that caught their eye.  Their heads were close together and they whispered some important information to each other. Perhaps they spotted a bug or a worm that had lost its way. A small of patch of dandelions spread around them. 

My mind was at rest and I consciously realized I was enjoying moments where the committee of the brain was on coffee break. I reveled in that moment.

Suddenly I heard squeals from the two intrepid explorers. They were running around in circles on those chubby little legs, waving their arms and laughing with pleasure. I could see they were playing some kind of tag with a beautiful Monarch butterfly. It appeared the butterfly was enjoying the attention for a period of time but got tired of the game and flew off to parts unknown.

One of the children looked in our direction and yelled at nobody in particular.

 “We saw a butterfly and I flew right by us!”

“That’s nice”, their mother said, as she flipped to the book’s next page.

Soon I was mesmerized by the actions of the two, who seemingly had not a care in the world. They marveled at every little thing as it was investigated. It wasn’t long before the dandelions became their point of attention. I watched as they inspected each yellow plant and started to pick them, as every little person might. They measured the length of the stem and somehow determined if they weren’t the same size quickly were discarded. I watched as each child divided their bouquet equally between them and examined each one with great scrutiny.

I was quite taken by their antics and was in a peaceful mood. Their adventures had become my Zen.

They came racing over to the bench and stood in front of me.

“Look Daddy, look what we found.” Joel squealed.

“Aren’t they pretty?” his sister added.

“They are absolutely beautiful, my babies, absolutely beautiful!”

There are times in your life you need to slow down and look at the beauty of the world. This was one of  those times.

Today’s front page blared “Among the mainstays of 2020 claimed by the pandemic: SPRING.” I must admit, March is a little blurry at this point and April might have been “the cruelest month” (apologies to T.S. Eliot!), but Spring IS here! It’s been creeping up on us since the vernal equinox as evidenced by the incremental gain in the moments of light we experience every day. As an early riser I am aware of the sunlight bouncing onto my bed at 5:00 am and lasting now well past 9:00 pm. I rejoice!

This is my first complete Spring in Washington. Twenty-one desert Springs where early Spring green turns quickly to burnt yellow and brown by June to last until the rains of January told the tale of California. Last year I was in the blustery Netherlands marveling at windmills, soaking in the tulips at Keukenhof Gardens, drinking in the art of Rembrandt, Van Gogh and Vermeer. Stuffing myself with Gouda cheese and Dutch pancakes. Oggling the mind-bending architecture and avoiding bike lanes.

When I came home and recovered my jet lag I saw the Oak trees that had been wind-blown twigs when I left were all leafed out. I knew I had missed something important. Spring happened without me. This year I immersed myself in it.

My back garden was new last year. It had spent the winter as nondescript sticks poking out of the ground. The labels said Peony, Lilac, Blueberry. But all I saw was sticks. Sad little leaves of strawberry plants hunkered down in the mulch looking forlorn. Skinny apple branches banging against the fence in the wind. Tiny mounds of thyme seeking escape between the pavers.

This year I got to experience the whole garden waking up. The Sweet Pea seeds I harvested last fall are now tendrils climbing the arbor. The Clematis reaches ever higher for the sun. The Lilac bush pulses with leaves before releasing frilly clusters exuding their heady perfume. The apple tree is burdened with blossoms of promise. Lavender spikes abound. Blueberry branches are packed with newly-set fruit. A carpet of strawberry blossoms awaits the bees. It’s like there is a fresh miracle of birth every day. And I have the time to savor it.

For those who are true gardeners, this may seem so very ho-hum. But for those of us with black thumbs and a long history of burying, drowning, starving and neglecting plants, this Spring is a dream come true! Breathe it in. Revel in the white clouds marching across a blue sky. Listen to the symphony of rain drumming from great gray ships of thunderclouds. Listen to the songs of life and sleep in the silence of the stars. Cherish the gift that is Spring.

The phone rings and the face of my youngest fills the screen.

    “Happy birthday Dad. I didn’t forget this one,” he says with a laugh.

    “Thank you, Son, it is good to hear from you. How are things?”

    “Oh, you know, not too bad. I owed a bunch of tax this year. I was hoping that the recovery surcharge would be over by now and the rates would come back down.”

    “That would be popular with everyone, but what choice did the government have? I asked. “I’m glad that the President got back in, she was doing a good job and all the opposition could propose was cutting taxes for the rich again.”

    “I suppose,” he allowed. “But we thought that we should take our daughter to meet our family in the UK before they are gone and the extra money would have helped. Did you see that British Airways is finally restarting direct service from Seattle to London in June?”

    “Yes, I was glad to see that. That flight has been so helpful over the years, especially when your grandparents were sick. And tell me, how is my favorite grand-daughter?” I asked.

    “She is doing great in Kindergarten and will be ready for First Grade in the fall,” he replied.

    “You were thinking about putting her into Kindergarten last year weren’t you?”

    “We thought about it, because she seemed ready to us, but our friends said that the school district was then still so short of money that kindergarten was not well supported. They had a bad experience and suggested that we would be better to leave her in the pre-school daycare, especially now that we can claim that on our taxes.”

    “Well, I trust the choices that you are making for her, you seem to have done a good job so far. She is very bright and inquisitive and the challenge is to keep feeding that active mind.”

I was a proud Grandad and felt that way about all three grandkids. They were smart enough to do well in college and I was happy that it would not be as much of a burden on their parents as it had been for my wife and I.

    “Funny that you say to keep feeding her mind, the questions are getting harder to deal with,” he replied. “Last week, she asked why some of the kids in her class were wearing masks on their faces.”

    “Really, what did you tell her?”

    “I started out telling her that I would explain when she was older, because it’s complicated.”

I laughed. “And did you get away with that?” I asked while thinking, fat chance.

    “No, of course not,” he replied. “I told her that it was probably because their parents were worried about them getting sick. Then, she wanted to know if she would get sick and why didn’t we let her wear a mask. I explained that we had taken her to the doctor to get a shot so that she wouldn’t need a mask,” he continued. “Then she had to know why they didn’t get a shot and I wanted to say because their parents were stupid, but I didn’t dare in case she repeated it, so I said I didn’t know.”

Just then, I got another call. It was his older brother and after thanking him and sending my love, I switched calls.

    “Happy birthday Dad, another year older,” he declared. Same thing he said last year, his time will come!

    “Thank you. I just got off the phone with your brother.”

    “So, how is he? Still filing wrongful death suits?”

    “I didn’t ask, but he was complaining about the tax he owed this year, so maybe so,” I replied.

     “Are you doing anything special tonight? he inquired.

    “We thought about dinner, but we don’t have a favorite restaurant locally anymore and we just didn’t feel like driving too far. I had one of those dinner boxes delivered and I’ll make that tonight. Tomorrow, we will have a few people over for drinks after cards.”

    “Tomororow’s Friday, didn’t you used to have a community potluck on Fridays? he asked.

    “We had to stop that a while ago, it just got too big. They put a bar in the new clubhouse, so now we get together for happy hour and we can do that any day of the week. Mind you, it looks as if this year’s coronavirus outbreak is turning serious again, so we may have to scale it back for a month or two.”

    “Yeah, we all got shots on the jobsite a couple weeks ago. You and Mom got them didn’t you?

    “Yes. That’s one of the good things to come out of the new local health authorities. They send a nurse-practitioner out to the community once a month because we qualify for what they call proactive care on account of our ages and medical histories. She brought a helper on her last visit and we all lined up and got a shot. It is really quick; they have this neat gun affair which they just press against your arm and shoot a dose.”

    “So, tell me,” I asked. “Is there any expectation that construction will pick up in Seattle again yet?”

    “Not really. The demand for office space is improving, but after Amazon and Google lost their anti-trust suits, more office space came on the market and what with so many working online these days, companies found they can save a lot of money. Business is still slow for some of them and they expect it will be another couple of years before any developer will want to take a risk in this area,” he explained.

    “You must be really glad for all the public works projects? I remember you having a fascination with bridges; you had all those pictures on your wall. Did you ever expect to be building one? I asked.

    “No, not really, but we use pre-stressed concrete in office buildings too and many of the techniques are similar. By the way, we were asked to bid on the new high-speed rail line between Vancouver, BC and Portland. I guess it will link up to the portion through Oregon and down into California.”

    “I have been reading about that online. They are planning to re-route freight traffic and upgrade the line through here to passenger service only. They will build an overpass for Marvin Road finally.”

    “You mean no more train horns? he exclaimed.

    “Yep, no more train horns! God willing, I’ll be alive to see it!

The phone buzzes again for another call. It is my daughter. I say good bye to my son and send my love to his family also.

    “Happy birthday Pops! Were you just on the phone? she inquires.

    “Yes, both your brothers, one after the other. For once, you didn’t beat them to it,” I respond.

    “Sorry, I have been tied up in an online meeting. We are busy implementing the national dental clinic network and it is coming along, but there are so many details to work out.”

    “I bet, but it will bring care to everyone won’t it, if I understand it right?

    “Yes, it is similar to the new general health system in that respect. Medicare covers local clinics and you can go to a private provider if you have contributory insurance,” she explained.

    “Ironic! That was how it was when I was growing up, fifty years ago. Better late than never, I suppose. You know that we have a nurse-practitioner come out here monthly. I was telling your brother that was how we got this year’s coronavirus shot. I didn’t mention to him that she will test us while she is here too.”

    “We are really hopeful that, by concentrating on the high-risk groups like seniors and low-income populations, that we will bring costs and outcomes more in line with the Europeans. We will need more healthy workers now that the world economy is recovering and with the investment credits boosting US manufacturers,” she told me.

    “Well it would be great if the government could pull it off,” I observed, “but does it look possible?”

    “The analyses of the old system revealed so many unneccessary layers of cost, that simply streamlining the process under a single health administration will mean huge savings. Do you remember how many hours a week Mom would spend on the phone arguing with the insurance companies. She would end up exhausted, but at least she had the time to do it. Someone who is at work during the day isn’t so lucky.”

    “I admit that I have been impressed by the President’s record for pushing through reforms. I mean, it was a shame that she had to come to power mid-term after the poor guy got sick and, give him his due, he did get the ball rolling. Can you imagine if we stlll had a split Congress, it would have been the same old gridlock.”

    “I agree. We need to cooperate. Look what we have achieved with all the fence-building. Picking fights with every major power was pointless. They are saying that the next climate report will finally show improvement.”

    “I’ll drink to that!” I declared.

    “So will I,” said a voice from across the room. “I put a bottle in the fridge earlier.”

    “I think I got a hint” I observed.

    “Sounded like more than a hint to me” she said, laughing.

    “You’re right. Thanks for calling. Say hi to that husband of yours and pet the cats.”

    “Bye Dad and happy birthday.”

I hung up the phone.