Alon
Alon reached out slowly with his hand and pulled aside the sword fern to peer intently at the small wood house nestled in the clearing below him. The single window dimly lit just enough to cast a light glow on the ground below. The smoke was snaking unhurriedly from the stone chimney with the sun just disappearing into the trees on the far side casting long shadows reaching for the side of the small house. Soon it would be dark. A good dark night, with no moon.
Good, the clothes were still on the clothesline waving silently in the evening breeze. Alon looked carefully at the house to make sure that the dog was in the house then toward the clothes again. Not today. All that were on the clothesline were light colored clothes. He wanted dark clothes, worn clothes. Those would never do. Alon slowly let go of the fern and slowly turned back to return to his home. Forty minutes later, taking a route he had never before taken, he smelled the faint hint of smoke and recognized the unique pattern of the roots on the fallen redwood that was his home. He was tired, never before had had he felt so unsure of his return. Was he really getting old, or was it just a difficult route that he had taken. For some reason, the woods had seemed darker, was it the branches getting thicker, or were his eyes getting dimmer? He grabbed a small root at chest level and let himself down carefully into the dark void until his feet touched a familiar place and he swiveled his body around another root and crept toward the dim light. His eyes slowly accustomed to the light as he reached for a dry limb from his small pile of wood. He always kept the fire in one of two ways, burning cleanly with no smoke, or no fire at all. The larger pile of wood he kept under another an overhanging broken tree a short distance away. It was always something he could do, collect dry wood. His small, stubby fingers reached up to his thin shirt slowly pulling the collar closer to his neck. Looking around, his eyes came to rest on the small pile of paper that made up his life, his history, his legacy. Leafing through it in the dim light his eyes caught words that brought back flashes of memories of the time that once was. Of happiness, peace, contentment, of a time he wished that would never end. And now, it was almost over, almost the end. A tear slowly pooled in the corner of his eye and slipped down his cheek to disappear into his beard. He was the last of his kind.
To be continued..........
Monday, October 31, 2005
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Happiness
I wonder at times why I am so happy and content. Is it because I’m a fool living in my own paradise, or am I just deluded and don’t really have enough sense to know what happiness is and I’m just a poor, pathetic person lost in his own world?
Personally, I feel that my world is better than what I could have ever planned it to be. I enjoy every little thing in life, from the plaintive bleating of the goat in the neighbor’s yard to the sweet smell of the alder wood that is burning in preparation of our evening meal. Simple pleasures that bring so much pleasure. The enjoyment of seeing Ohmah searching for the apples in the trees above the point at which he can jump, but yet jumping as hard and as high as he can, only to be disappointed at not being able to reach as high as his eyes can see.
I gain a sense of enjoyment at being able to cook the dog’s treats; end of pieces of the meat that I will be grilling, and seeing them slobber and drool at the smell of it cooking, because for some reason, they know it is for them.
Take the quiet sound of the neighbor’s goats when they’re being fed. They know, I know, the neighbor knows, that they are now content because of their needs being met.
I don’t think that it is necessarily simple pleasures that bring enjoyment and happiness, but the simple appreciation of those trouble-free pleasures. Life isn’t about tomorrow, but about enjoying life today. Thoreau had it right, simplify. Simplify. Carpe diem; seize the day, enjoy the day.
I believe that life boiled down to its essence, is appreciating what you have, whatever it is, and not wanting things for tomorrow.
I wonder at times why I am so happy and content. Is it because I’m a fool living in my own paradise, or am I just deluded and don’t really have enough sense to know what happiness is and I’m just a poor, pathetic person lost in his own world?
Personally, I feel that my world is better than what I could have ever planned it to be. I enjoy every little thing in life, from the plaintive bleating of the goat in the neighbor’s yard to the sweet smell of the alder wood that is burning in preparation of our evening meal. Simple pleasures that bring so much pleasure. The enjoyment of seeing Ohmah searching for the apples in the trees above the point at which he can jump, but yet jumping as hard and as high as he can, only to be disappointed at not being able to reach as high as his eyes can see.
I gain a sense of enjoyment at being able to cook the dog’s treats; end of pieces of the meat that I will be grilling, and seeing them slobber and drool at the smell of it cooking, because for some reason, they know it is for them.
Take the quiet sound of the neighbor’s goats when they’re being fed. They know, I know, the neighbor knows, that they are now content because of their needs being met.
I don’t think that it is necessarily simple pleasures that bring enjoyment and happiness, but the simple appreciation of those trouble-free pleasures. Life isn’t about tomorrow, but about enjoying life today. Thoreau had it right, simplify. Simplify. Carpe diem; seize the day, enjoy the day.
I believe that life boiled down to its essence, is appreciating what you have, whatever it is, and not wanting things for tomorrow.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Leaves in the fall
To hear the sound of nature, I must be out in nature. I can never imagine it nearly as good as it really is. I am always surprised and happy at what I will see when I place myself in the woods. For me, every time I go it is different, even though it may be the very same place. One time it may be the way the sunlight is striking a leaf casting a glow so bright that the leaf appears to be on fire. Next, it is a barren tree with nought a leaf to cover its nakedness. I can almost sense the tree saying something like, “excuse me for my appearance, and just come back in the spring.” My favorite though, is when I come across a cavern like part of the road or trail with the trees arching over the roadway, straining to reach the far side. The rich damp smell of the earth fills my nostrils and I strain my ears to hear the sound of the …………. Silence.
Ahh, it is a golden sound, a sound to be treasured, a fleeting sound in today’s world. But, the sound of silence is really only there if I don’t listen closely enough. When I do, I hear the wind rustling through the tree tops, making a swishing sound out of the branches and leaves. For the leaves it is a losing battle, as this is the time of year when the trees strain to conserve their energy and cut off the life-giving sap to the leaves. Each individual leaf must pay the price as the wind slips through the branches and the leaves give their last gasp releasing their hold on the life-sustaining branch. Some leafs spiral down in a graceful manner much like a parachutist making their way to earth. Others go into a tight spiraling descent as they crash into the ground. Others, hold on to their life as long as they can and then make a graceful descent to land peacefully on the fallen brethren that have gone on before, almost as if not wanting to wake them up from their peaceful slumber. All though, catch a fleeting reflection of the sun as they fall and so their colors of yellow, red, and orange are made manifest one last time as they give the one last gift that they are able, the beautiful sight of leaves in the fall.
Responsibility begins with self responsibility and being in control of your own situation. This thought process always hits me when the first rain of the season comes and or the first power outage darkens our home. The first thought is, where is the kerosene or fluorescent light? Next, where are the matches? It comes down to the elements of basic survival: water, food, and shelter. In the case of a power outage, the elements of water and food are not initially the primary concern as is a shelter that will provide an immediate protective abode. Of course, the next questions are, do we have enough food and water? I guess I’m thinking this because I just walked out to the backyard and looked at the woodpile and tried to estimate if we had enough wood to last the winter and to what degree of dryness that the wood is. The question to myself was, have I prepared enough in this one aspect of my life? If so, I can move on to the next area. If not, what do I need to do? This scene typifies to me the basic need to provide, albeit a small example, it still is that basic primordial expectation to provide for those that you are responsible to. A need for me that is only felt when I have a close connection to the Earth and recognize that even though my sustenance takes a round-a-bout way of getting here, it still remains the same. The only difference is that, given our modern living styles we have isolated ourselves from the very means that have made us the survivors of our species that we are. I believe that this is evidenced by the dependency of those that depend on “someone” to help them when they are in need.
Granted, on a large scale, there are natural disasters that are simply to large to prepare for. On a small scale, there are many things that individuals and families can do to take care of themselves in times of trouble. A family disaster plan and preparedness with basic supplies is a good first step. We, as a species, are generally reactive, and hear and read of these things after a major disaster has taken place somewhere and people are not receiving the expected needed help.
The fall of the year is a time in which the recognition for preparation is most often felt. I see squirrels, bears, and other animals prepare for the winter by gorging themselves trying to lay in the food they need, either on their body, or secreted away. Another sign are the farmers harvesting their last crops and the gardens becoming barren and fallow from the last vegetable and fruits being picked. The sense of the salmon fulfilling their destiny and completing their life cycle. And finally, the hunter gatherer harvesting this bounty of the Earth to sustain themselves and their families throughout the long winter season. A time of year when the old ways come back and I sense in a small and distant way, that I must prepare for my own to survive, and I question, am I prepared enough?
That primordial sense comes to me when I am out in the woods and see a tree lying there for me to take back and warm my modern cave. It also comes during the fall when men talk of deer hunting. For me, it goes beyond the killing of something; it goes to that idea of providing. When I do take the life of an animal or fish, I express my thanks to it for supplying me with the sustenance I need to carry on my life and I feel that I am just a small bit closer to being prepared for the long winter season.
Granted, on a large scale, there are natural disasters that are simply to large to prepare for. On a small scale, there are many things that individuals and families can do to take care of themselves in times of trouble. A family disaster plan and preparedness with basic supplies is a good first step. We, as a species, are generally reactive, and hear and read of these things after a major disaster has taken place somewhere and people are not receiving the expected needed help.
The fall of the year is a time in which the recognition for preparation is most often felt. I see squirrels, bears, and other animals prepare for the winter by gorging themselves trying to lay in the food they need, either on their body, or secreted away. Another sign are the farmers harvesting their last crops and the gardens becoming barren and fallow from the last vegetable and fruits being picked. The sense of the salmon fulfilling their destiny and completing their life cycle. And finally, the hunter gatherer harvesting this bounty of the Earth to sustain themselves and their families throughout the long winter season. A time of year when the old ways come back and I sense in a small and distant way, that I must prepare for my own to survive, and I question, am I prepared enough?
That primordial sense comes to me when I am out in the woods and see a tree lying there for me to take back and warm my modern cave. It also comes during the fall when men talk of deer hunting. For me, it goes beyond the killing of something; it goes to that idea of providing. When I do take the life of an animal or fish, I express my thanks to it for supplying me with the sustenance I need to carry on my life and I feel that I am just a small bit closer to being prepared for the long winter season.
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Inside the heart of every person beats the soul of a being built to survive. Every day the habits of getting up, going to work, providing for ones family is a learned reaction of an underlying desire to survive. While we may see things today as just what we are expected to do, it is indeed, a mark of survival. Those that do not, are of a linage that will one day die out. They are of those that when a problem happens, are the ones that look for someone else to solve it.
A survivor is one who is proactive and anticipates problems and while may not be totally prepared, has a least thought through potential problems and is beyond the initial surprise ready to deal with the situation. The survivor is one who when disaster strikes, first takes care of his own, and then looks to see how he can assist others. The first example that comes to mind is the Search and Rescue departments of governmental organizations and their prior preparedness to assist with situations that they may be called upon to deal with. While they may not spend their time on disaster situations that may not happen to them, they do train and have resources to be ready for the potential problems that they feel are worthy of their time and money to prepare for. A governmental organization like the Federal Emergency Management Authority (FEMA) may well be a contributing cause or rather an excuse for people on an individual level to feel that they are absolved of taking care of themselves and their families.
A survivor is one who is proactive and anticipates problems and while may not be totally prepared, has a least thought through potential problems and is beyond the initial surprise ready to deal with the situation. The survivor is one who when disaster strikes, first takes care of his own, and then looks to see how he can assist others. The first example that comes to mind is the Search and Rescue departments of governmental organizations and their prior preparedness to assist with situations that they may be called upon to deal with. While they may not spend their time on disaster situations that may not happen to them, they do train and have resources to be ready for the potential problems that they feel are worthy of their time and money to prepare for. A governmental organization like the Federal Emergency Management Authority (FEMA) may well be a contributing cause or rather an excuse for people on an individual level to feel that they are absolved of taking care of themselves and their families.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
Life Recharged II
This weekend Andrew and I went on a backcountry road in Del Norte County that I went on one time when I was a kid with my father-38 years ago. The last time I had gone on the road was when I was 12 years old. The road is the northernmost accessible road in Del Norte County and it really is not too far away, certainly not 38 years ago away! The furthermost point is only 40 miles away-as the crow flies. The road is gravel and dirt, graveled in Del Norte County and dirt in Oregon. It darts back and forth over the border, and having a GPS we could tell exactly when we were at the 42nd parallel (the line of demarcation between California and Oregon). If history hadn’t altered we would have been leapfrogging with the Spanish and English border!
Anyway, the last time I had been over this road I remember sleeping for most of the day. It was one of those hot Fall days and Dad and I were hunting for deer. In between looking for “a big fat buck” and more often than not, nodding off, I was brought to my senses by our ’51 Dodge pickup abruptly coming to a halt. Skidding even-pretty good as we creeping along at about 5 miles per hour. From my blurred state of mind I could see Dad throwing the door open and rushing across in front of the pickup with his gun at the ready. He had spied “a big fat buck.” He disappeared through the brush and moments later I heard his gun go off 3 or 4 times. By that time my adrenalin was running, but I had no where to go, not really sure if I should follow him, or stay in the truck. After what seemed like hours Dad came walking back up the road with a sweaty brow and a broad grin on his face. I couldn’t wait for him to tell me if he had been successful, I had to blurt out, “Did you get ‘im?” “Yep, I got ‘im,” he said, “he’s down over the bank.” He got in the pickup and we drove down the road, around and down the switchback and underneath to where he stopped the truck and announced, “He’s up there,” pointing about 100 yards up the hill. I had to believe him, as I couldn’t see anything because of the tall brush. He had an uncanny sense of direction and being able to find things, without a map, or like me now-a-days, a GPS. He left his 30.06 in the pickup and took off through the brush with me tagging along behind him, not wanting to miss any more of the adventure. Moments later he located the deer and found that he had hit him in the neck. Not bad for a 120 yard shot-with open sights.
I soon found out that as soon as the deer goes down the fun is over. Next came the job of gutting out the deer and dragging him down the side of the mountain to the truck. Between the heat of the day and the smell of the entrails, I felt that this was just about as much adventure as I could stomach for one day. From our location we were able to look down onto the North Fork of the Smith River at a place called Major Moore’s. Since we were still about 2 hours from home we had quite a ride home.
I remember quite distinctly that I didn’t fall asleep the rest of the way home, every few minutes peering into the back of the pickup to make sure that the buck hadn’t jumped out of the back ending my dream. He never did jump out and I never did have to wake up, because it really happened. I had gone hunting with my Dad, and we had been successful. While I hadn’t shot it, for some reason, I felt as much a part of the success as if I had shot the deer myself. Actually, he had seen two deer, one had crossed the road, and one had turned back the way they had come.
When we arrived home after dark and announced to my Mom that “we” had got a deer. She wasn’t exactly as thrilled as I was. But she understood that it was important for me to see where our meat animals really come from and that this animal gave up its life for us. Yes, “we” had taken a life, but this really made me understand that the tidy little packages of meat that we buy at the grocery store mean that an animal had to die so that my body could be nourished
We didn’t get a deer today. But this trip with Andrew did bring back memories of me being in the out-of –doors with my Dad. And it was a good feeling—a very good feeling. Getting a deer would have been just more icing on the cake. I believe that everything happens when it should, and today, well, it just wasn’t meant to enjoy that much icing. Maybe in another 38 years when I go on this road again, I will go after the buck that turned back, or maybe my grandson will.
This weekend Andrew and I went on a backcountry road in Del Norte County that I went on one time when I was a kid with my father-38 years ago. The last time I had gone on the road was when I was 12 years old. The road is the northernmost accessible road in Del Norte County and it really is not too far away, certainly not 38 years ago away! The furthermost point is only 40 miles away-as the crow flies. The road is gravel and dirt, graveled in Del Norte County and dirt in Oregon. It darts back and forth over the border, and having a GPS we could tell exactly when we were at the 42nd parallel (the line of demarcation between California and Oregon). If history hadn’t altered we would have been leapfrogging with the Spanish and English border!
Anyway, the last time I had been over this road I remember sleeping for most of the day. It was one of those hot Fall days and Dad and I were hunting for deer. In between looking for “a big fat buck” and more often than not, nodding off, I was brought to my senses by our ’51 Dodge pickup abruptly coming to a halt. Skidding even-pretty good as we creeping along at about 5 miles per hour. From my blurred state of mind I could see Dad throwing the door open and rushing across in front of the pickup with his gun at the ready. He had spied “a big fat buck.” He disappeared through the brush and moments later I heard his gun go off 3 or 4 times. By that time my adrenalin was running, but I had no where to go, not really sure if I should follow him, or stay in the truck. After what seemed like hours Dad came walking back up the road with a sweaty brow and a broad grin on his face. I couldn’t wait for him to tell me if he had been successful, I had to blurt out, “Did you get ‘im?” “Yep, I got ‘im,” he said, “he’s down over the bank.” He got in the pickup and we drove down the road, around and down the switchback and underneath to where he stopped the truck and announced, “He’s up there,” pointing about 100 yards up the hill. I had to believe him, as I couldn’t see anything because of the tall brush. He had an uncanny sense of direction and being able to find things, without a map, or like me now-a-days, a GPS. He left his 30.06 in the pickup and took off through the brush with me tagging along behind him, not wanting to miss any more of the adventure. Moments later he located the deer and found that he had hit him in the neck. Not bad for a 120 yard shot-with open sights.
I soon found out that as soon as the deer goes down the fun is over. Next came the job of gutting out the deer and dragging him down the side of the mountain to the truck. Between the heat of the day and the smell of the entrails, I felt that this was just about as much adventure as I could stomach for one day. From our location we were able to look down onto the North Fork of the Smith River at a place called Major Moore’s. Since we were still about 2 hours from home we had quite a ride home.
I remember quite distinctly that I didn’t fall asleep the rest of the way home, every few minutes peering into the back of the pickup to make sure that the buck hadn’t jumped out of the back ending my dream. He never did jump out and I never did have to wake up, because it really happened. I had gone hunting with my Dad, and we had been successful. While I hadn’t shot it, for some reason, I felt as much a part of the success as if I had shot the deer myself. Actually, he had seen two deer, one had crossed the road, and one had turned back the way they had come.
When we arrived home after dark and announced to my Mom that “we” had got a deer. She wasn’t exactly as thrilled as I was. But she understood that it was important for me to see where our meat animals really come from and that this animal gave up its life for us. Yes, “we” had taken a life, but this really made me understand that the tidy little packages of meat that we buy at the grocery store mean that an animal had to die so that my body could be nourished
We didn’t get a deer today. But this trip with Andrew did bring back memories of me being in the out-of –doors with my Dad. And it was a good feeling—a very good feeling. Getting a deer would have been just more icing on the cake. I believe that everything happens when it should, and today, well, it just wasn’t meant to enjoy that much icing. Maybe in another 38 years when I go on this road again, I will go after the buck that turned back, or maybe my grandson will.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
Time
Time is a vacuum where we choose, knowingly or unknowingly, to spend our lives. The manmade timepieces that we use every day simply a way to regulate our minutes, hours, days, and years. The calendar a lined grid in which to regulate the ebb and flow of daily life.
The older I get the more time I need to spend reflecting on how important this gift of time really is. Just this last year I was fortunate to go to my 30th high school reunion and I was amazed how aged most people were looking. Many where changed to the extent that it was somewhat difficult to remember them as the svelte image that was imprinted on my mind. Of course, it went both ways, as I found it difficult to not just remember what they looked like but also to remember their names!
Time. The mind recalls what once was, the mirror reflects what is. So, the question as I see it is, ‘tis it better to live in the past, with its former memories, or is it better to enjoy the present day and the opportunites it presents. I believe that it is natural, on bad days, to think that things will never get better again. But on those days I must think the situation all the way through and recall that things have been worse, and many more times they have been better. But, for the most part things have always been played out in a cyclic manner, from the personal highs and lows in my own life to the cycle of nature-even down to the water cycle. I remember reading somewhere that all the water on the earth has been recycled something like seven times and thus, it may have been drank by dinosaurs as well as mixed into a soft drink and drained down the sink.
Life, when it comes down to its basic level really is simply just a cycle. Life has a beginning and life has an end. But the energy from whence we come is ground into the earth to be used as fodder for the next generation. The living organisms that make up our existence today are the building blocks of the life forms of tomorrow.
Time is a vacuum where we choose, knowingly or unknowingly, to spend our lives. The manmade timepieces that we use every day simply a way to regulate our minutes, hours, days, and years. The calendar a lined grid in which to regulate the ebb and flow of daily life.
The older I get the more time I need to spend reflecting on how important this gift of time really is. Just this last year I was fortunate to go to my 30th high school reunion and I was amazed how aged most people were looking. Many where changed to the extent that it was somewhat difficult to remember them as the svelte image that was imprinted on my mind. Of course, it went both ways, as I found it difficult to not just remember what they looked like but also to remember their names!
Time. The mind recalls what once was, the mirror reflects what is. So, the question as I see it is, ‘tis it better to live in the past, with its former memories, or is it better to enjoy the present day and the opportunites it presents. I believe that it is natural, on bad days, to think that things will never get better again. But on those days I must think the situation all the way through and recall that things have been worse, and many more times they have been better. But, for the most part things have always been played out in a cyclic manner, from the personal highs and lows in my own life to the cycle of nature-even down to the water cycle. I remember reading somewhere that all the water on the earth has been recycled something like seven times and thus, it may have been drank by dinosaurs as well as mixed into a soft drink and drained down the sink.
Life, when it comes down to its basic level really is simply just a cycle. Life has a beginning and life has an end. But the energy from whence we come is ground into the earth to be used as fodder for the next generation. The living organisms that make up our existence today are the building blocks of the life forms of tomorrow.
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