you know we really got to know each other this time.
you were less scary than your predecessor.
{to the seventeen year old who sat next to me in biology.
-I'm really not smarter than you, it's just with out a 2000 dollar lap top i spend less time on face book than you.....and what he said last was "meiosis"....hurry and type that on your "notes " windows while answering the fourth e-mail or instant talkie thingy whaty or whatever it is you do... (half the class was doing the same thing)
{to the young women in human development who sat to my left.
when you took notes on your lap top and gave them via e-mail to the young man who sat to your left and who missed two class periods because his friend passed away one morning after a night of "partying". I'm sure he only came back to class because you assured him that he would have what he needed to pass the next exam if he did. you were just enough encouragement at just the right time. good job angel.
[and to the young man...
on your choking comments in class during a subsequent lecture about the practice of binge drinking in college,.. your long pauses and occasional tears said more than your answer to the teacher's question......at twenty two you have learned that you are not immortal. it was a terrible lession.
finish rehab dude...................
again I'm sorry........
don't give up, you can do it...
{to my buddy from chemistry last semester who learned how hard anatomy is as a subject this semester.....
aren't you glad now that you didn't quit at mid term....to many did. hell i almost did the same thing....but you did great.
i was so proud of you when i graded your final exam.
{to the obstinate little boy who ran and hid from his soon panicked young father when he turned his back for less than ten seconds while coming to get your mom at the school....
it isn't cool to hide in the ladies room, little man...
and madam i do apologize again, it was logically the only place he could have gone down that particular hallway...
and well his father needed help locating....
and i just thought that he must of....
well, sorry.......
{to my beautiful daughter....
for whom Tuesday and Thursday salad with dad became a habit. i loved that time of the week and your company gave me strength when i thought i couldn't do one more hour of study.
thank you for being there.
as the semester ends i find my self having accomplished 95 to 100 % of my goals for the semester....
are my goals to low?
or have i sacrificed to much to achieve them?
maybe both i think.
one week and i start up with a new semester, it won't be easy, but we will try to live up to the standard set with you...
perhaps it is the clear vision of all i have left to do, or something is wrong with me, but i find the end of our time together , spring semester, leaves me feeling a little empty and sad.
but i will miss you, we did alright together.. thanks again.
your friend
papa bear.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
moose mouse club....activity
Hey guy's i just wanted to ask:
when i was a boy i used to steal plaster of paris from our garage. mix it and use it to make 3D cast of tracks i would find in those places i haunted back then. it was a fun way for me to learn the nuances of the different animal tracks....but i was really trying to find BIGFOOT at first.
i was thinking that i would bring enough of the stuff up to the family reunion that each kid whose parents give permission would be able to make 3 or 4 cast of animal tracks.
they will get a little messy.
so parents please let me know if you would like to let your kids participate.....
messy.....i warned you......think white mud....
the one thing way cool about this is that these kids will be able if we are lucky to find tracks that i never was able to collect when i was their age....we could give out awards if you would like.
like a scavenger hunt.
this would be time consuming......like durring mama's nap time..... might take hours....;-)
when i was a boy i used to steal plaster of paris from our garage. mix it and use it to make 3D cast of tracks i would find in those places i haunted back then. it was a fun way for me to learn the nuances of the different animal tracks....but i was really trying to find BIGFOOT at first.
i was thinking that i would bring enough of the stuff up to the family reunion that each kid whose parents give permission would be able to make 3 or 4 cast of animal tracks.
they will get a little messy.
so parents please let me know if you would like to let your kids participate.....
messy.....i warned you......think white mud....
the one thing way cool about this is that these kids will be able if we are lucky to find tracks that i never was able to collect when i was their age....we could give out awards if you would like.
like a scavenger hunt.
this would be time consuming......like durring mama's nap time..... might take hours....;-)
Thursday, March 11, 2010
new semester
So this semester has been as fun as the last.
work, school, work, work, work school, school, workschool..
But not necessarily in that order. i am pretty sure my wife is still my wife, but my kids now refer to me as "that guy who mom talks to after we go to bed".
You would think that they would be grateful she wasn't talking to herself....
One funny thing this week....
I was sitting in human development on Tuesday. and the teacher is lecturing on the theory of intellect and the types of thinking that are involved with it.
She spoke for a minute of the concept of critical thinking, which is;
The cognition of information by weighing it against our own previously known information and personal beliefs, for as to assign our support or denial of some or all information given in the presentation.
or "Do we agree with what we are being told? and why? or, why not?"
She talked of the recent controversy with The International Committee on Man Made Global Warming.
She expressed dismay in her self and other intellectuals for failing to ask questions and assuming the data and scientist were untainted. Several other students expressed similar sentiments.
I was flabbergasted. As I listened I thought of something I had heard once and raised my hand and in the spirit of humor said this:
now wait, there are many scientific observations that we should be concerned about....
I now took on a very serious tone as if I was chastising them for being foolish.
For instance I myself have been for the last few months taken careful scientific observations and recorded some truly troubling data concerning what is going on right outside this building....
As I spoke every one in the room turned towards me and gave me their full attention,
the teacher who knows me and has had me give brief explanations concerning human biology in the class, looked really concerned and asked earnestly;
Shawn what observations?....
I paused as if getting ready to deliver some bad news and then said....
"For several months I have carefully measured the alarming addition of light each and every day, and had concluded that one year from now.......there will be no night...."
They were shocked and confused as I finished...
A girl on the front row put her hand to her mouth and said "what...what did he say?"
They sat looking at me trying to be sure they heard what they thought they had heard.
The teacher was muffling a laugh into her hand.. Then I said in a flat tone...
"quit staring at me i was being sarcastic...."
they laughed for a while then she thanked me for my improvisational example of the need for critical thinking...
I didn't have the heart to tell her i stole it from Rush Limbaugh....I will tell her another day when she has gotten a little immunity to big chunks of truth.....
Every now and then you get lucky, it was just my day. Oh well back to work......
work, school, work, work, work school, school, workschool..
But not necessarily in that order. i am pretty sure my wife is still my wife, but my kids now refer to me as "that guy who mom talks to after we go to bed".
You would think that they would be grateful she wasn't talking to herself....
One funny thing this week....
I was sitting in human development on Tuesday. and the teacher is lecturing on the theory of intellect and the types of thinking that are involved with it.
She spoke for a minute of the concept of critical thinking, which is;
The cognition of information by weighing it against our own previously known information and personal beliefs, for as to assign our support or denial of some or all information given in the presentation.
or "Do we agree with what we are being told? and why? or, why not?"
She talked of the recent controversy with The International Committee on Man Made Global Warming.
She expressed dismay in her self and other intellectuals for failing to ask questions and assuming the data and scientist were untainted. Several other students expressed similar sentiments.
I was flabbergasted. As I listened I thought of something I had heard once and raised my hand and in the spirit of humor said this:
now wait, there are many scientific observations that we should be concerned about....
I now took on a very serious tone as if I was chastising them for being foolish.
For instance I myself have been for the last few months taken careful scientific observations and recorded some truly troubling data concerning what is going on right outside this building....
As I spoke every one in the room turned towards me and gave me their full attention,
the teacher who knows me and has had me give brief explanations concerning human biology in the class, looked really concerned and asked earnestly;
Shawn what observations?....
I paused as if getting ready to deliver some bad news and then said....
"For several months I have carefully measured the alarming addition of light each and every day, and had concluded that one year from now.......there will be no night...."
They were shocked and confused as I finished...
A girl on the front row put her hand to her mouth and said "what...what did he say?"
They sat looking at me trying to be sure they heard what they thought they had heard.
The teacher was muffling a laugh into her hand.. Then I said in a flat tone...
"quit staring at me i was being sarcastic...."
they laughed for a while then she thanked me for my improvisational example of the need for critical thinking...
I didn't have the heart to tell her i stole it from Rush Limbaugh....I will tell her another day when she has gotten a little immunity to big chunks of truth.....
Every now and then you get lucky, it was just my day. Oh well back to work......
Saturday, January 30, 2010
the pros and cons of being Katie and Becca....THE CON"S
When they were about two years old they had a theme.... Explore, Play and make messes of a biblical scale....
There were three things they did that summer....
One fine Saturday afternoon they were some how able to TEAR OFF the lid of a nearly full five gallon bucket of corn oil. so what do a pair of two year olds do with approximately four and a half gallons of corn oil?
They spread it evenly over 78 square feet of linoleum in the kitchen.....what else.
Terri heard a thump followed by several others in quick succession.... It appears the new sport of oil skating would have to wait for introduction in America.
It took 27 oz. of liquid dishwasher soap to loose enough oil to hold on to them, without having the little greasy gophers, slip through you fingers like the wind in silk running pants.
A few weeks later the same experiment was tried with a five gallon bucket of white flower....in the same kitchen, at least the second foray sopped up what was left of the oil....
I'm not sure if the statute of limitations has run out on the third incident.
But i will say that even to this day, every deer living in valley forge state park in Pennsylvania will flee at the approach of a golden ford tempo....
Over the years their strength and fearlessness has shown them great adventures and some sorrow. And the inter-twin competition is regionally famous.
Still together they are formidable.
THE PRO"S
In eighth grade a fight occurred between two young men who were not well matched at all. Within seconds one boy was on the ground while the other. (a stout fellow who was born to a family from Tonga) Began to pound him mercilessly and if I recall correctly a few of his cousins joined in to make a point about family unity...or gang warfare.
The boy on the ground had no allies in the gathering crowd, and no teacher was to be seen.
Kate and Bec had no plan or agreement as to what to do, on instinct, they simply acted.
Katie ATTACKED the aggressive parties with animalistic enthusiasm.
Becca attacked at first, then seeing Katie was fully sufficient for a rear guard upon retreat PICKED UP the injured boy and carried him away. With Kate starring down any possible pursuit.
Leaving the stunned poly's unwilling to chase..... These young men are to this day unsure as to what had actually happened.
Someone in the crowd who was holding his bleeding face in both hands, said to a nearby friend...
" Damn white girl hit like my momma!" Then they tried to decide weather or not, to seek medical attention.
There is a deer or two in valley forge who can testify to that as well.
They will wonder how I know of this. I will just say I have met many young men and women who still remember them from Orem Jr high, and some of them need help in chem and anatomy, and I am collecting stories.
I could tell you a few that would surprise you. Testimonies and tussles, sad things and wonderful things.
I told you that to tell you this.
My daughters are:
complex
joyous
heroic
tragic
beautiful
full of life
fearful
instinctive
messy
full of common sense
smarter than the average bear
scarier that the average lion.
These are the descriptions of Friends and acquaintances.
To me, they are still my baby girls, and sometimes I wish I could hold them in the palm of my hand as I did when they were born.
Instead now, I ask God to do it.
If they stay close to him.... I know he will.
If you do stay close to him nothing will ever overcome you.
Happy birthday girls.
Dad.
Friday, January 1, 2010
the silver shadow.
This is one of those stories, that is personal.
I write this more for my kids. some of whom have asked me a question or two about the big silver dog I mentioned in my last story, and about my attitude towards dogs in general.
This is one of those things that penetrates deeply into my center....
My dad once showed me a tree that had been burned but not killed in a forest fire. It was displayed in cross section and had continued to grow for fifty years past the day of the fire.
He pointed out the burned section buried deep inside the fifty layers of annual rings that followed the event.
People can be like that with both good and bad things.
I have a pretty good memory of being little
I remember my second birthday. I remember the chocolate frosting on yellow cake with two white candles burning in the center.
I remember my oldest sister holding my hands in hers to keep me from diving into it.
I remember her helping me to blow out the candles and how quickly the cake was whisked over to the kitchen counter and making a royal mess of the piece they gave me.
I also recall my blue eyed Friend who would sit still as a statue next to me and when my mom wasn't looking eagerly got his share. his name was Regal, my mom called him "Shawn's shadow"
He was a few years old when my dad got him. We were living in Marysville, California.
A Friend of my dad was moving to Sacramento and couldn't take his prized weimeriner with him and asked my dad to take him.
We had a farm and it was thought the dog would be comfortable on 120 acre's. He told my dad that the dog loved to play with kids, my dad and mom had four. I was four months old at the time.
He was about ninety pounds, he had a prefect coat and great confirmation for the breed.
During the first week we had him he just lay on the ground out near the chicken coup for two days, from that spot he could watch the long drive that lead to the highway below our home.
Our chickens had quit laying just recently and my mom wanted to blame the dog for upsetting them. But that night my parents heard a huge commotion out in the yard and ran out with my dad's big metal flashlight and a shotgun luckily for Regal my mom had the flash light.
He had something pinned to he ground and was in dog fashion killing it....
My mother hollered "Shoot him, he's got a chicken!"
My dad whistled for him he trotted over and instead of a chicken, dropped a mortally damaged red fox at my mothers feet.
The next morning our new dog got fresh biscuits and raw milk for breakfast, courtesy of my mom.
He had a tendency to lie near things that we valued, my mothers chickens, my dad's truck.
He would patrol the farm looking for what, we didn't know.
He and I got to be friends on the day that my parents moved me out of their room and into my older brothers room. I was still pretty little and my mom needed to sleep thru the night so they moved me upstairs to a room with a view of huge live oak trees, that were outside the window where my crib was placed on the floor.
Since I had kept her up most of the night gibbering and making noise like most little kids in a small wooden cage (crib). might do. My mom felt it was best that we both take a nap, she in her newly quiet bedroom and me in my newly assigned headquarters.....
That went over like a pregnant pole-vaulter.
I screamed and cried and threw a world class fit.
I can't say honestly that I remember this day, but my mom does and she told me about it eight years later. It is not time to tell you about that day yet though...
He some how got into the house and quietly made his way up stairs and into my room, he had never been in the house before, but somehow he found me.
my mom found him a few hours later lying outside my crib (the crib was on the ground without legs underneath it)
He lay next to me on the other side of the bars like a friend visiting me in prison, and I was asleep.
My mom, who hated the very idea of "dogs in the house" just said "good dog...." and quietly walked out.
He was four legged Ambien! He stayed and slept next to my crib from that time, and eventually on my bed.
From that day on he followed me everywhere I went. When I was older I would walk up the hill across from the pond that I wasn't allowed to wade or play in, following my mother to where the diversions were that controled our different irrigation ditches. These ditches were small and shallow and I would try to jump in and play in the water, but the minute my mom would yell at me for trying to drown myself, the dog would jump in and drag me out of the water by the seat of my pants.
I hated that dog that day
I told my mom that I could swim in these small ditches. With my dramatic protestations she eventually relented and let me.
In my attempt to swim I figured the dog might try to drag me out again so I asked her to call him away. she tried, he wouldn't come, he would howl, and bark, and throw a canine fit!
I cured his interference by a proper application of public nudity!
he didn't like that much either. In frustration he lay on the bank and watched me.
these ditches were three feet wide and about eighteen inches deep. i started by just stretching out in them floating on my belly holding on to the muddy bottom with my hands and kicked my legs as the water would slowly flow past me. eventually I was able to let go and use my arms.
My mother was a little amazed but she would let me go "swim" when we had water running.
I eventually got swimming privlages for the pond too, the dog would run to the point nearest to where i was and bark at me...
when I went out to swim he would go along. when I played in the barn, he went too.
when I crawled thru the blackberry bushes he was there. when I got older and started school in the cold autumns of western Montana. he would wait for me on the porch or at the first stop sign down the road or across the street from the school...he actually got into the school once or twice...but it was Montana in the sixties.....that's normal..
There are as many stories about Regal and I in my family, as there are gabby stories in the one my wife and I have now.
There was one day that I heard all of them, one after another, from the time he was left at our California farm until the day I sat in the kitchen with my mother.
In the eight years we were together he went from being a powerful, swift, silver furred guardian
To an old dog, one that I now looked for, instead of the other way around, and often found him lying on the garage floor on a cushy bathroom rug that my mom bought for him at an auction.
For some reason he had really slowed down in the last few months of winter. The summer before he had been just fine, but during the winter he just lay on the basement floor near the furnace and didn't move much.
Late in the spring my dad took him to the vet.....
he didn't come home...
My dog had prostate cancer and was in pain.....My dad explained as best he could thru his tears.
Then he got in his truck and went for a drive.....
There was in my back yard a cattle rack that fit my dad's truck. My friends and i played on it sometimes. So i climbed on top of it and sat there. it was spring but it was a cold cloudy day.
I looked down expecting to see my dog....He wasn't there...... I climbed down.
There was a big elm tree in the back yard I climbed as high as I could.
50 feet off the ground I looked east across our side of Missoula.
Then I looked west, over open Fields, stacks of hay left over from last year, horses and cows, with creeks crisscrossing from the mountain in the distance.
I kept looking back at the ground below me.
I wanted to see blue eyes looking up at me.
I wanted to see the blue eyes that looked into my crib.
I wanted to see the blue eyes that watched me learn to swim.
I heard my mother call my name....I didn't move. She was gruff at times and I hoped the new small leaves would cover me.
I didn't want to be reminded of a chore that I had tried to avoid, right then.
But she called again...She must have seen me climb up .....
There was a softness to her voice, almost pleading with me to come down.
When I came in, I sat at the kitchen table with her, and she told me stories, some I had forgotten, some I didn't know, some had been told so often and for comedic effect that they needed to be oiled before the telling.
I looked into her blue eyes and we talked about him.
We laughed alot and i cried a little.
So to answer your question, my beloved child.....why do I treat my dogs like they are children.
Because of a big silver shadow that treated me like a puppy....
That's why....
Sometimes I still think he is next to me...
See you when i get there bud......
I write this more for my kids. some of whom have asked me a question or two about the big silver dog I mentioned in my last story, and about my attitude towards dogs in general.
This is one of those things that penetrates deeply into my center....
My dad once showed me a tree that had been burned but not killed in a forest fire. It was displayed in cross section and had continued to grow for fifty years past the day of the fire.
He pointed out the burned section buried deep inside the fifty layers of annual rings that followed the event.
People can be like that with both good and bad things.
I have a pretty good memory of being little
I remember my second birthday. I remember the chocolate frosting on yellow cake with two white candles burning in the center.
I remember my oldest sister holding my hands in hers to keep me from diving into it.
I remember her helping me to blow out the candles and how quickly the cake was whisked over to the kitchen counter and making a royal mess of the piece they gave me.
I also recall my blue eyed Friend who would sit still as a statue next to me and when my mom wasn't looking eagerly got his share. his name was Regal, my mom called him "Shawn's shadow"
He was a few years old when my dad got him. We were living in Marysville, California.
A Friend of my dad was moving to Sacramento and couldn't take his prized weimeriner with him and asked my dad to take him.
We had a farm and it was thought the dog would be comfortable on 120 acre's. He told my dad that the dog loved to play with kids, my dad and mom had four. I was four months old at the time.
He was about ninety pounds, he had a prefect coat and great confirmation for the breed.
During the first week we had him he just lay on the ground out near the chicken coup for two days, from that spot he could watch the long drive that lead to the highway below our home.
Our chickens had quit laying just recently and my mom wanted to blame the dog for upsetting them. But that night my parents heard a huge commotion out in the yard and ran out with my dad's big metal flashlight and a shotgun luckily for Regal my mom had the flash light.
He had something pinned to he ground and was in dog fashion killing it....
My mother hollered "Shoot him, he's got a chicken!"
My dad whistled for him he trotted over and instead of a chicken, dropped a mortally damaged red fox at my mothers feet.
The next morning our new dog got fresh biscuits and raw milk for breakfast, courtesy of my mom.
He had a tendency to lie near things that we valued, my mothers chickens, my dad's truck.
He would patrol the farm looking for what, we didn't know.
He and I got to be friends on the day that my parents moved me out of their room and into my older brothers room. I was still pretty little and my mom needed to sleep thru the night so they moved me upstairs to a room with a view of huge live oak trees, that were outside the window where my crib was placed on the floor.
Since I had kept her up most of the night gibbering and making noise like most little kids in a small wooden cage (crib). might do. My mom felt it was best that we both take a nap, she in her newly quiet bedroom and me in my newly assigned headquarters.....
That went over like a pregnant pole-vaulter.
I screamed and cried and threw a world class fit.
I can't say honestly that I remember this day, but my mom does and she told me about it eight years later. It is not time to tell you about that day yet though...
He some how got into the house and quietly made his way up stairs and into my room, he had never been in the house before, but somehow he found me.
my mom found him a few hours later lying outside my crib (the crib was on the ground without legs underneath it)
He lay next to me on the other side of the bars like a friend visiting me in prison, and I was asleep.
My mom, who hated the very idea of "dogs in the house" just said "good dog...." and quietly walked out.
He was four legged Ambien! He stayed and slept next to my crib from that time, and eventually on my bed.
From that day on he followed me everywhere I went. When I was older I would walk up the hill across from the pond that I wasn't allowed to wade or play in, following my mother to where the diversions were that controled our different irrigation ditches. These ditches were small and shallow and I would try to jump in and play in the water, but the minute my mom would yell at me for trying to drown myself, the dog would jump in and drag me out of the water by the seat of my pants.
I hated that dog that day
I told my mom that I could swim in these small ditches. With my dramatic protestations she eventually relented and let me.
In my attempt to swim I figured the dog might try to drag me out again so I asked her to call him away. she tried, he wouldn't come, he would howl, and bark, and throw a canine fit!
I cured his interference by a proper application of public nudity!
he didn't like that much either. In frustration he lay on the bank and watched me.
these ditches were three feet wide and about eighteen inches deep. i started by just stretching out in them floating on my belly holding on to the muddy bottom with my hands and kicked my legs as the water would slowly flow past me. eventually I was able to let go and use my arms.
My mother was a little amazed but she would let me go "swim" when we had water running.
I eventually got swimming privlages for the pond too, the dog would run to the point nearest to where i was and bark at me...
when I went out to swim he would go along. when I played in the barn, he went too.
when I crawled thru the blackberry bushes he was there. when I got older and started school in the cold autumns of western Montana. he would wait for me on the porch or at the first stop sign down the road or across the street from the school...he actually got into the school once or twice...but it was Montana in the sixties.....that's normal..
There are as many stories about Regal and I in my family, as there are gabby stories in the one my wife and I have now.
There was one day that I heard all of them, one after another, from the time he was left at our California farm until the day I sat in the kitchen with my mother.
In the eight years we were together he went from being a powerful, swift, silver furred guardian
To an old dog, one that I now looked for, instead of the other way around, and often found him lying on the garage floor on a cushy bathroom rug that my mom bought for him at an auction.
For some reason he had really slowed down in the last few months of winter. The summer before he had been just fine, but during the winter he just lay on the basement floor near the furnace and didn't move much.
Late in the spring my dad took him to the vet.....
he didn't come home...
My dog had prostate cancer and was in pain.....My dad explained as best he could thru his tears.
Then he got in his truck and went for a drive.....
There was in my back yard a cattle rack that fit my dad's truck. My friends and i played on it sometimes. So i climbed on top of it and sat there. it was spring but it was a cold cloudy day.
I looked down expecting to see my dog....He wasn't there...... I climbed down.
There was a big elm tree in the back yard I climbed as high as I could.
50 feet off the ground I looked east across our side of Missoula.
Then I looked west, over open Fields, stacks of hay left over from last year, horses and cows, with creeks crisscrossing from the mountain in the distance.
I kept looking back at the ground below me.
I wanted to see blue eyes looking up at me.
I wanted to see the blue eyes that looked into my crib.
I wanted to see the blue eyes that watched me learn to swim.
I heard my mother call my name....I didn't move. She was gruff at times and I hoped the new small leaves would cover me.
I didn't want to be reminded of a chore that I had tried to avoid, right then.
But she called again...She must have seen me climb up .....
There was a softness to her voice, almost pleading with me to come down.
When I came in, I sat at the kitchen table with her, and she told me stories, some I had forgotten, some I didn't know, some had been told so often and for comedic effect that they needed to be oiled before the telling.
I looked into her blue eyes and we talked about him.
We laughed alot and i cried a little.
So to answer your question, my beloved child.....why do I treat my dogs like they are children.
Because of a big silver shadow that treated me like a puppy....
That's why....
Sometimes I still think he is next to me...
See you when i get there bud......
Friday, December 18, 2009
and now my christmas thought
Sometimes I get lost in the details of the story I tell, I will try to stay on task.
As we rolled around the the dirt roads along the big Blackfoot river, we past creek after creek, and canyon after canyon.
The big Blackfoot feeds into the Clark fork river, these rivers and others are the drainage for a glacial bed that only a few thousand (8 to 40 depending on which geologist you talk to) was still a mile thick over what was then an open plane. but these rivers, the Clark fork in particular and the creeks that feed it dug out the canyons and the valley's giving shape and variety to the landscape. This process continues to this day.
As my dad drove on I realized that lost creek must be a way's off. We had passed every one that I knew and the gully's off the canyons were beginning to become dry.
As the tributaries became fewer and the steams became smaller there were fewer and fewer people fishing along them .
Finally we were alone and my dad parked the truck at the bottom of a dry gulch. Regal didn't wait for the tail gate and was sniffing and investigating he was very excited to be here, he kept looking back at my dad as if he was anticipating him to pull out a shotgun, he was ready to hunt!
My dad said" Not today Boy!" dropped the tail gate again and told Regal to "jump in and stay", he did.
He gave me a fishing pole grabbed his equipment and told me to follow him as he walked into the woods surrounding a dry gully.
As we walked he told me that he and the dog were hunting in this area last fall and came across a "lost creek" and he didn't think anyone else knew about it.
"How does a creek get lost?" He gave me a fairly detailed explanation about bedrock, soil types, underground aquifers, and artisan springs, but it came down to; The water gushes out of the ground and makes a pretty stout creek for a mile or so then slowly disappears in to the soil again leaving no evidence below that it is there.
"And there is fish in it?" "yep" some big old cutthroats and two different beaver dams along the mile or so that it is above ground.
Thinking about the fact he left the dog in the truck and glancing at the big 45 colt on his belt, I asked; " Any bears? " "Yes son..." His voice softened a little at the tension in mine.
He reminded me that making a little noise to be sure they knew we were there, would move them out and we would be fine. "If we don't surprise them.".
He would then call Regal up, after we had been there for fifteen minutes or so. "We didn't want the dog tangling with a bear." I knew if he chose between a fifty dollar ticket and the "best bird dog he ever had" it would mean; dead bear.
He through a few rocks and hollered a time or two. And about ten minutes later he pointed up to a saddle in the ridge above us and said. "There he is." A big bear with long silver fur just across his back, galloped across to the next canyon with out looking back. Dad whistled and five minutes later Regal was leaning against my hip.
We walked on.
He took me to the first beaver dam set me up with a bobber and a dozen worms and said to me and the dog."Stay out of the creek if you go swimming you will regret it." he paused like he had something else to say. Instead he just smiled shook his head and walked on up stream.
side note: my nick name was " the fish". I had taught my self to swim when I was three.
Staying out of the water, was not in my contract.....
90 seconds later I was naked in the seventy degree air temperatures,
then the dog (who decided to keep his collar on) and I jumped into the pool, off the bank.
I had never felt pain quite like that........
In the open Fields with banks of dark brown earth and even in the rivers the water was tolerable for a few minutes or more.
But this water had been under ground for years and was just 10 degrees above freezing.
My swimming career was over.
Future generations of my children collectively gasped in sympathetic pain, and wondered who might be there father now that my lower extremities unable to over come gravity, had to remain in the water while I hastily waded out.
The dog who routinely retrieved goose in the fall, smashing ice as he went, mumbled something about me being a sissy and lay down on the bank next to me as I gasped for air.
I could here my dad laughing heartily about two hundred yards away...... When he could contain himself. He told me to "get dressed and walk it off....."
As I walked past him I asked if I could go upstream "You stay out of the water?" he asked looking down at me. " Yes sir." i said kicking a stone with my boot. "OK then"
The silver shadow followed along.
I walked up and as I did the stream got bigger and bigger.
and then I came to the spring that was set in the confluences of two BIG gullies; almost canyons.
There water pushed from the ground clear and so cold that it hurt your hand after just a few seconds of submersion.
As the big dog drank heavily from it, I walked twenty yards above the roaring water and stood on dry ground. I walked farther up and soon couldn't even hear the rushing water. looking back at the trail that I came from, I found that it was so tangled with brush that you couldn't see any evidence of the creek. as I said before the stream disappeared at the bottom, the beaver dams pooled the water in such a place that it would seep back into the ground from whence it came.
The ground literally drank it up before it could be seen from the road.
This to me was amazing.
To a seven year old it was pure magic
This is my point. every year the malls, and the stores, and the churches, and the tabernacles, and the conference center, become absolutely filled and over flowing with the spirit of Christmas.
This spirit which is the light of Christ, sorrows at a family in need, or other sadness's,
and joys at the triumph of the skies while focusing on the little town of Bethlehem as still we see it lie.
In most people that I know, this spirit last much longer than Christmas. some not as much.
This spirit can become dammed in a place where perhaps it seeps back below and waits for a confluence of season and reason to be.
We are all individuals and each circumstance has singular condition. But if we could give our self a gift..... would we try to make subtle changes necessary to keep this spirit alive and above ground. That would be pure magic.
Let you light so shine....it might catch on....
Merry Christmas.
As we rolled around the the dirt roads along the big Blackfoot river, we past creek after creek, and canyon after canyon.
The big Blackfoot feeds into the Clark fork river, these rivers and others are the drainage for a glacial bed that only a few thousand (8 to 40 depending on which geologist you talk to) was still a mile thick over what was then an open plane. but these rivers, the Clark fork in particular and the creeks that feed it dug out the canyons and the valley's giving shape and variety to the landscape. This process continues to this day.
As my dad drove on I realized that lost creek must be a way's off. We had passed every one that I knew and the gully's off the canyons were beginning to become dry.
As the tributaries became fewer and the steams became smaller there were fewer and fewer people fishing along them .
Finally we were alone and my dad parked the truck at the bottom of a dry gulch. Regal didn't wait for the tail gate and was sniffing and investigating he was very excited to be here, he kept looking back at my dad as if he was anticipating him to pull out a shotgun, he was ready to hunt!
My dad said" Not today Boy!" dropped the tail gate again and told Regal to "jump in and stay", he did.
He gave me a fishing pole grabbed his equipment and told me to follow him as he walked into the woods surrounding a dry gully.
As we walked he told me that he and the dog were hunting in this area last fall and came across a "lost creek" and he didn't think anyone else knew about it.
"How does a creek get lost?" He gave me a fairly detailed explanation about bedrock, soil types, underground aquifers, and artisan springs, but it came down to; The water gushes out of the ground and makes a pretty stout creek for a mile or so then slowly disappears in to the soil again leaving no evidence below that it is there.
"And there is fish in it?" "yep" some big old cutthroats and two different beaver dams along the mile or so that it is above ground.
Thinking about the fact he left the dog in the truck and glancing at the big 45 colt on his belt, I asked; " Any bears? " "Yes son..." His voice softened a little at the tension in mine.
He reminded me that making a little noise to be sure they knew we were there, would move them out and we would be fine. "If we don't surprise them.".
He would then call Regal up, after we had been there for fifteen minutes or so. "We didn't want the dog tangling with a bear." I knew if he chose between a fifty dollar ticket and the "best bird dog he ever had" it would mean; dead bear.
He through a few rocks and hollered a time or two. And about ten minutes later he pointed up to a saddle in the ridge above us and said. "There he is." A big bear with long silver fur just across his back, galloped across to the next canyon with out looking back. Dad whistled and five minutes later Regal was leaning against my hip.
We walked on.
He took me to the first beaver dam set me up with a bobber and a dozen worms and said to me and the dog."Stay out of the creek if you go swimming you will regret it." he paused like he had something else to say. Instead he just smiled shook his head and walked on up stream.
side note: my nick name was " the fish". I had taught my self to swim when I was three.
Staying out of the water, was not in my contract.....
90 seconds later I was naked in the seventy degree air temperatures,
then the dog (who decided to keep his collar on) and I jumped into the pool, off the bank.
I had never felt pain quite like that........
In the open Fields with banks of dark brown earth and even in the rivers the water was tolerable for a few minutes or more.
But this water had been under ground for years and was just 10 degrees above freezing.
My swimming career was over.
Future generations of my children collectively gasped in sympathetic pain, and wondered who might be there father now that my lower extremities unable to over come gravity, had to remain in the water while I hastily waded out.
The dog who routinely retrieved goose in the fall, smashing ice as he went, mumbled something about me being a sissy and lay down on the bank next to me as I gasped for air.
I could here my dad laughing heartily about two hundred yards away...... When he could contain himself. He told me to "get dressed and walk it off....."
As I walked past him I asked if I could go upstream "You stay out of the water?" he asked looking down at me. " Yes sir." i said kicking a stone with my boot. "OK then"
The silver shadow followed along.
I walked up and as I did the stream got bigger and bigger.
and then I came to the spring that was set in the confluences of two BIG gullies; almost canyons.
There water pushed from the ground clear and so cold that it hurt your hand after just a few seconds of submersion.
As the big dog drank heavily from it, I walked twenty yards above the roaring water and stood on dry ground. I walked farther up and soon couldn't even hear the rushing water. looking back at the trail that I came from, I found that it was so tangled with brush that you couldn't see any evidence of the creek. as I said before the stream disappeared at the bottom, the beaver dams pooled the water in such a place that it would seep back into the ground from whence it came.
The ground literally drank it up before it could be seen from the road.
This to me was amazing.
To a seven year old it was pure magic
This is my point. every year the malls, and the stores, and the churches, and the tabernacles, and the conference center, become absolutely filled and over flowing with the spirit of Christmas.
This spirit which is the light of Christ, sorrows at a family in need, or other sadness's,
and joys at the triumph of the skies while focusing on the little town of Bethlehem as still we see it lie.
In most people that I know, this spirit last much longer than Christmas. some not as much.
This spirit can become dammed in a place where perhaps it seeps back below and waits for a confluence of season and reason to be.
We are all individuals and each circumstance has singular condition. But if we could give our self a gift..... would we try to make subtle changes necessary to keep this spirit alive and above ground. That would be pure magic.
Let you light so shine....it might catch on....
Merry Christmas.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
an indirect christmas thought.
When I was a boy we lived in Missoula Montana, my dad and I went fishing often.
The summers there were designated as the two months of the year that; "It most likely wouldn't snow in the valley's".
Fishing for my father was more of a compulsive way of life than anything, and it really bugged my mother.... so he had a plan.
If he stood on a fence rail on the west side of our two acre's on the edge of town and looked across the open fields that stretched out to the Blue Mountain. you might see a few boys stalking the creeks that watered the stock in those fields, just like wild Indians. (A few of them were Salish and/or Kootenai tribal members.)
Near one of those half naked boys would be a big silver dog, his name was Regal. He was a wiemeriner, my dads hunting companion, and my shadow. If dad wanted to find me he would call for the dog with a high pitched whistle, (same whistle that calls Sam nowadays) but Regal wouldn't come...he wanted to go to my dad, but he wouldn't leave me.
He would howl and bark and make a fuss, until I was invited to leave the hunting party!
So I would head home 3/4 of a mile across the openfeilds and streams.
At the fence Regal would jump over and run to the garage, following him I would find my dad loading fishing gear into the front of his 55 ford pickup. dad dropped the tail gate and the big dog bounded in to the back.
"Where ya goin' dad?" I asked "Lost Creek, Don't you want to go?" he replied. (hmm. lost creek never been there.... sounds mysterious and scary....) "Sure dad sounds fun." My assignment was to go in the house get dressed "properly" and tell my mom that "I wanted dad to take me fishing." and be back before she could ask to many questions...... She frowned but didn't ask...
The youngest child has such jedi powers.....
I jumped into the back of the truck sat down, near the front, in the middle of the big spare tire. The big dog lay next to me as he had done my whole life. he snored while I scratched his ears and ribs, and watched the countryside roll by.
what has this to do with Christmas? I'll have to finish the story tomorrow or the next day because anatomy lecture final looms like the abominable snow creature (Rudolf)
The summers there were designated as the two months of the year that; "It most likely wouldn't snow in the valley's".
Fishing for my father was more of a compulsive way of life than anything, and it really bugged my mother.... so he had a plan.
If he stood on a fence rail on the west side of our two acre's on the edge of town and looked across the open fields that stretched out to the Blue Mountain. you might see a few boys stalking the creeks that watered the stock in those fields, just like wild Indians. (A few of them were Salish and/or Kootenai tribal members.)
Near one of those half naked boys would be a big silver dog, his name was Regal. He was a wiemeriner, my dads hunting companion, and my shadow. If dad wanted to find me he would call for the dog with a high pitched whistle, (same whistle that calls Sam nowadays) but Regal wouldn't come...he wanted to go to my dad, but he wouldn't leave me.
He would howl and bark and make a fuss, until I was invited to leave the hunting party!
So I would head home 3/4 of a mile across the openfeilds and streams.
At the fence Regal would jump over and run to the garage, following him I would find my dad loading fishing gear into the front of his 55 ford pickup. dad dropped the tail gate and the big dog bounded in to the back.
"Where ya goin' dad?" I asked "Lost Creek, Don't you want to go?" he replied. (hmm. lost creek never been there.... sounds mysterious and scary....) "Sure dad sounds fun." My assignment was to go in the house get dressed "properly" and tell my mom that "I wanted dad to take me fishing." and be back before she could ask to many questions...... She frowned but didn't ask...
The youngest child has such jedi powers.....
I jumped into the back of the truck sat down, near the front, in the middle of the big spare tire. The big dog lay next to me as he had done my whole life. he snored while I scratched his ears and ribs, and watched the countryside roll by.
what has this to do with Christmas? I'll have to finish the story tomorrow or the next day because anatomy lecture final looms like the abominable snow creature (Rudolf)
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