THE DAY GRANDPA VANISHED

Struggling from the last grasps of sleep, I heard the faint scratching on the tent flap.  Grandpa!  Last night as I left the campfire to bed down, Grandpa asked me to join him for an early walk before breakfast.  Eagerly I had answered YES.  Time alone with him was a precious thing, always fun, and sometimes exciting.
 
Grandpa was special - in most of the ways Grandpas are supposed to be special, but also in many other ways that were unique.  For instance, he slept very little, not more that four hours a night; usually from about 1:00 am to 5:00 am.  And he read voraciously.  But never fiction - only what could inform, educate, and teach him.  And, I truly believe, he had no fear.  A belief that was confirmed to me the day he confronted the mother black bear with a cub.  But, that's another story, and while I'll never forget it, what I remember most about him was his oneness with the forest.

I don't remember any situation in which he appeared uncomfortable.  Whether with his children and grandchildren on Saturday evening gatherings, or slipping in for a single Boilermaker with Dad and me at the Rock Tavern while away from Grandma's view on a Saturday afternoon (though I think she always knew and tolerated this breach of her rules concerning the evils of drink).  Or, beneath the hood of the ever present Packard automobile in his driveway (I've been told he was one of the best Packard mechanics ever to raise the hood on those fine vehicles - never just cars, but always fine automobiles to Grandpa (and now, forever, to me).

In the forest, however, he was a different and unique creature.  And there - in the woods - is where I remember him most vividly.  He belonged there as no other human I have ever met.  Dad and his brother Max were outstanding woodsmen, and like them I grew to love the forest more than any other place; but Grandpa was truly a part of the forest, just like the trees.
 
In terms of forest elements I tend to think of him as an Aspen, with green and golden leaves reflecting the sunlight, softly "quaking" in the soft mountain breezes (he taught me why the Aspens are called "Quakers," standing quietly motionless beside me, helping me to hear the unique sound as he did).

Most people think that Aspen, Colorado, takes its name from those magnificent trees, but Grandpa told me the real story about that one day on a ski lift above that then small, quaint and quiet village.  But that too is another story for another telling.

Quietly, careful not to wake my parents and sister, I gathered my clothes and slipped from the tent.  The pre-dawn Colorado morning was cloudless, crisp and refreshing.  While the August sun had not yet stretched above the adjacent peaks, the clear sky was showing blue, and Grandpa was eager to be off, hurrying me to dress.  With shirt and pants on and my 12 year old mind struggling to come full awake, my fingers seemed to forever fumble over socks and the laces on my sneakers.  Grandpa stepped into the forest.  "I'll go slow, so you can catch up," he said as I sat on  one of he damp logs surrounding the ashes of last night's campfire, fumbling fingers moving all the slower as I tried to hurry.
 
For some reason that day seemed more than just another day of camping out with the Grandparents.  Looking back over what has now become decades, I can't explain how I sensed it, but that day was the last in which we would share time alone, just the two of us together, in his beloved forest.  My boyhood was rapidly approaching the busy teenage years, filled with school and cars, sports outings and young love; running to catch what was never catchable.  Of course, that morning I didn't foresee all that was to happen in my young life; perhaps he had a premonition, or maybe just an understanding that comes with the widsom born from age.  But I knew that day - that time - was important and valuable beyond my youthful understanding.  I wasn't about to miss one moment.

My eyes tried to follow the direction he took while also looking at what I was doing.   My head bobbed like the pine boughs above in the morning breeze, looking up to focus on his receding back, then down again to fix my shoes.  Finally ready, I looked up - and he was gone.  Vanished.  Vanished into the woods.  Into the forest that was truly his natural home.

In a forest, most of us walk through the trees.  But when he walked within it he "joined" the forest as one of it's integrated components.  Though he never used such language, he taught me as much as I could absore of that environement.  Sometimes with words.  Often without, as he touched the leaves of a Scrub Oak or the aromatic needles on an aging Lodgepole Pine.  When he squatted on his haunches, close to the long grass in an Aspen grove, or near the small fragile high meadow flowers above timber line, he seemed to connect with all that lived in his surroundings - understanding their reason for being in that specific place, and relishing the unique and special beauty they each willing shared with us.  He was never a trespasser in their world.  And, while I feel at home in the woods, in great measure because of his teaching, I don't believe I will ever be a part of it as he was.

I sat stunned.  The feelings of sadness, frustration, even anger, rushed through me as quickly as light flashes from water drops bouncing off the rocks of a rushing mountain stream in bright morning sunlight.  I stared dumbly at the last space in the forest I had seen him.  He said he'd go slow - he said he'd wait.  But he had left me behind.  I had failed the test - I wasn't ready yet to stay with him through the forest.

I remember walking in the woods with Grandpa as far back as I can remember anything.  Often we walked with my father, three "men" together, although I'm sure that at five and six years of age, or even later while hunting at age 14 or 15, it was only I who believed there were three "men."  Usually we just walked, frequently pausing to sense and see the creatures moving and standing around us as we passed.  When we spoke it was softly, gently, so as not to disturb those whose presence we had come to share and enjoy.  Though Dad told me that Grandpa liked to fish (I remember "catching" my first fish on a safety pin hook and marshmallow bait - learning at about 16 who really put the fish on that hook while Dad had my attention elsewhere); and though they - later we - hunted deer and elk each fall, most of our time in the woods was just walking and watching.

Grandpa taught me how to watch - how to see all of the forest.  Many sights are easily overlooked and unseen if you don't know how or where to look.  And often, seeing in the forest is being still and quiet and simply listening.  I know that Dad also taught me many of those lessons.  But, of course, he too had learned from Grandpa, and my memories of the lessons learned most often seem to be those from Grandpa himself, even when the three of us were together.
 
He often demonstrated a unique relationship with the little creatures.  When we stopped to rest or watch, if I could be still enough, the ground squirrels and chipmunks came to him.  Approaching his outstretched hand they sniffed his fingers.  Gathering his scent and quiet manner, they seemed to know he was one of them.  Sometimes he held a treat for them, other times he was just making friends.  He could touch them; talk to them, occasionally even pet them.  I saw wild squirrels climb his arm and perch on his shoulder.  I have read of others who possess this unique ability to communicate with wild creatures, but I witnessed it only with Grandpa.  And try as I might, I have never been able to do it myself.  If it is a gift, he most certainly had it.  If it is understanding and love, then he truly was wise beyond most.

Then, my stare began to focus - as he had taught me.  Seeking what most eyes do not see: a shape, a silhouette, a shade or color that is different or separate.  As the first of his many lessons registered in my awakening mind, I began to think - and then to see.  And finally, as he had intended, seeing with young eyes and mind in training, he reappeared.  He stood still as the trees surrounding him, immobile as it seemed only Grandpa could stand, watching something I could not see - waiting for me.  I moved to him, finally fully awake - reasoning and truly seeing - ready for the day and the spectacular sunrise about to encompass us; ready for more lessons from the master woodsman.
 
I remember little more about that specific day.  That day and the lessons taught have merged with other days and other times.  But, when I think about that day, that moment when fear and self doubt turned to clear vision and joy, I understand again the point of all his lessons.

Now, with grandchildren of my own to love and teach, I hope I can leave them with the love of the earth and the creation around us that he was able to so uniquely share.  And, perhaps that most important lesson: a clear and reasoning mind using its senses to see what is truly there, understanding how we fit with all that surrounds us.

From the Aspen Grove: may this day be a good one for you, and may the Great God who loves you bless you and yours.

CAN THE FOUNDATION OF OUR NATION BE PRESERVED?

You may have heard a parent or grandparent say in exasperation of a child, "he/she always wants to know why."  I was such a child and remain so inclined today.  I want to know why.  

Over the last several years, reflecting on the direction of our Great Nation and the Western World in general, I am dismayed by constantly lowered societal standards of behavior, and an apathetic population unequipped to evaluate the state of their nations or to choose with some degree of informed intelligence candidates that could (would) best serve the long term needs of representative government.  I kept asking why.

So, setting aside spiritual explanations for the moment, I went to the books and began reading again those authors who I hoped could remind me of the foundational principles.  Starting with economics I looked again to Hazlitt, Hayek, Weaver, Von Mises, Read, Opitz, Bastiat; then to the Foundational Documents of our Nation (Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, the Federalist Papers), to Jefferson, Adams, Madison, Franklin, Washington and others.  I added daily review of current writers and pundits, addressing the events of immediate concern.  I’m still in that process.

As I own a copy of the Great Books of the Western World (albeit not nearly as well read as I anticipated at the time of their purchase more than forty years ago).  I began with a review of the Preface to those works by their Editor, Robert M. Hutchins.  Written in 1951, I was astounded to read this, “We believe that the reduction of the citizen to an object of propaganda, private and public, is one of the greatest dangers to democracy.”  He went on to write, “The reiteration of slogans, the distortion of the news, the great storm of propaganda that beats upon the citizen twenty-four hours a day all his life long means either that democracy must fall a prey to the loudest and most persistent propagandists or that the people must save themselves by strengthening their minds so that they can appraise the issues for themselves.”

Reading my e-mail each day reveals a nationwide cry of those same thoughts, perhaps expressed less elegantly, but certainly with no less anguish.  The representational government of the United States, a democratic republic established little more than 200 years ago, is certainly in much greater danger now than when Mr. Hutchins penned the thoughts quoted above.

Twelve years later, in a letter to the readers of the Gateway to the Great Books, an additional collection of writers of consequence, he wrote, “Today two objects consume our time: work and distraction.” (Which he elsewhere defines as “fun”) “These distractions have now got to such a point that in addition to reorienting the culture and our attitude toward life, they have made it almost impossible for us to keep our minds on anything for more than half an hour.”  He concluded that our focus was on “fun” because it required little effort, whereas reading, educating ourselves, required effort, was hard, and therefore unpopular.

In these notations from a man concerned a half century ago about the well being of our country in light of an increasingly under-educated, overwhelmed and unfocused citizenry, I think we can see the beginnings of an answer to why we are sliding ever closer to the abyss of socialism, fascism and eventually, tyranny.

With these ideas circulating through me, I had opportunity to spend a bit of time in the last couple of weeks with some highly successful businessmen here in SW Missouri.  I found two men, both of whom I respect highly for their accomplishments, integrity and intelligence, too busy.  But, I found them too involved with trying to survive the current economic mess, too occupied with business and family to spend even a little time or energy on the “big picture” question of how do we - as perhaps the sole surviving nation of free citizens - restore the freedoms now lost and protect the others that are currently threatened through recent and proposed legislation.

Please understand, I am not criticizing these men.  I respect them both  They believe in personal responsibility, have strong work ethics, are motivated, goal setting individuals.  These are the kind of men that are needed to lead.  And, they do lead in their respective business affairs.  But they are not interested in stepping out to lead in the greater community, in the political or governmental arena – or even to help identify and promote others who would.  It seemed to me that the reason is that they lacked the historical perspective and consequent understanding which would stir them to any action beyond that directly involved in preserving their personal and business assets through the current economic collapse.

They did not want to discuss the reasons behind the current crisis nor address the issues that must be faced and resolved if they (we) are to continue own and manage businesses that remain un-regulated and untaxed enough to sustain our economy.  The larger political concepts seemed not of interest.  They expressed no desire to discuss qualified candidates to represent their (our) interests in Washington.

Frankly, I felt they had given up, resigned themselves to the inevitable, all the while pretending our nation is not moving along the path toward economic, political and social collapse.  I believe their apathy regarding national issues is common among people we would typically identify as successful.

I think this points toward the answer to my “why.”

I retired a year ago.  I now have much more time to think, to read, to converse, to write (as I am doing here).  Prior to retirement, while perhaps no less concerned, I too, not unlike the two men I just discussed, had little time and energy, nor the motivation to address the greater issues.  Any concern was not strong enough to overcome the inertia of day-to-day minutia, and the tiring physical stresses of simply providing for the needs and wants of the family - in fact, circumstances not so unusual for most of us.

I wonder then, how did our Founding Fathers do it?  They had businesses, farms, families, health problems, aging problems.  In their lives they faced all the difficulties we do, perhaps more in their non-technological society.  What is the difference?

I think it is perspective enabled by education.

They had a much greater historical perspective.  They read – a lot.  They knew and understood the various concepts of political systems.  They understood, from an historical perspective, what types of governments had failed, and why.  They knew both first hand and from history, that only free men, unfettered by oppressive government can possibly attain, and sustain, a law based system.

And, because they understood, they were willing to risk all: life, fortune and family, to establish that system, that nation.  The nation that we have become is at risk from an irresponsible society focused on fun, spoiled by the monetary success built on the sweat and blood of those who went before us.  Our Founding Fathers evidently understood what we apparently do not.

Freedom isn’t free.  How many times has that been expressed?  It’s common to speak that about our military.  But, beyond the efforts of those generous and courageous citizens, sacrifice and hard, frequently difficult effort is required from we civilians.  And, education is required; education about, and diligence to, the values of integrity in leadership, political rectitude, and a willingness to serve others at a cost to self.

I know there is a spiritual component that I am not here addressing.  The concepts of God’s blessings and His role in establishing and sustaining our great land and peoples is essential to a discussion about the why of our society’s decline.  That may In fact be the far more important discussion.  But, for now, I want to address the concept that we have become a poorly educated citizenry, a society of “fun” focused people, either unable to understand, or unwilling to risk our personal comforts to prevent, the changes that are rapidly, and perhaps forever reducing to social and economic rubble this once great experiment in government by a people possessing inalienable rights granted by our Creator.

I am concerned.  I wonder if it is too late.  I grieve that I did not understand fifty years ago, with Robert Hutchins, what we faced; that I was so uneducated, so unconcerned, and perhaps so spoiled, that I chose not to truly perceive the circumstances of our post WWII age.  Instead, choosing to accept events and circumstance without question, fooling myself into believing that someone else – smarter, better educated, less selfish - was looking out for the nation’s interests.  I believed when President Kennedy counseled, “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country,” that someone else was responding, that someone else was doing for their country that which I did not do.

And perhaps that is the real answer to this particular why - because I chose not to extend the effort to make a difference.  Of course, not that I, the would be philosopher from some remembered Grove of Aspens could or would have made, individually, the difference.  But, that I, under-educated, satisfied, selfish, grasping for the "brass ring" of financial success and social acceptance, like thousands of others, chose the easy path, and enjoyed the fruit of labors literally paid for by the blood of my father (died in WWII) and forefathers without thinking about the work that I needed to do to retain that which was bought with such a high price.  Now it seems I have only regret to pass to my offspring.  Somehow, saying I'm sorry doesn't seem like enough.

From the Aspen Grove: may this day be a good one for you, and may the Great God who loves you bless you and yours.

WHY THE ASPEN GROVE

To me no place stirs philosophical ruminations like a large grove of Aspen trees, deep in the woods, in the height of summer. Perhaps, as the largest living organism, the grove unites with the dreamer in me, the seeker of wisdom and truth, the never settled - always seeking wanderer. In the deep shade of those old, gently whispering sages of peace and beauty I feel a nearness to the Creator as in no other place. The sun filtered through the leaves, the aroma of long grass, ancient trees and the fermenting forest floor impart a peace of mind unique, gentle and satisfying.

So, I begin my blog. Finally committing to the desire to communicate and impart my feelings, thoughts and ideas to someone else. At last beginning to fulfill the need to share my concerns, hopes, and dreams.

Questions persist: is this a good use of my time - does anyone else really care about the concerns and hopes of an aging dreamer? Will those that come after even read, or care enough to attempt to understand? Can the experiences, memories or advise that I choose to share have an impact on any other life - especially the lives of my offspring (Grandchildren will you listen - will you hear)?

Time will reveal - but the need persists and so I begin. If you share my thoughts, may they bring you pleasure; incite you to think, to contemplate, to reflect and to form opinions of your own; and, if I can find the way to express myself forcefully and clearly enough, to stimulate you to act, to grow, and hopefully to realize at least some, of your, as yet unrealized, potential.

I believe that God intends for each of us to expand to our greatest potential. I have felt the stirring, the pull of His force (spirit?) from my earliest days - from youth somehow knowing that we have a purpose as yet unfilled for which we must ever strive. I can remember, at the age of ten, questioning - seeking for the "why" of living. Now, I believe that we are on a journey that has only the smallest of beginnings in this age, in the short span of years that we have in this world; but, that this time is critical, that it serves us to build our foundation for what is to follow.

God's plan for us, His purpose in creating us, begins with this life of weak bodies; filled with joy and sorrow, times of fulfillment and times of abject discouragement. Until we acknowledge that a great many of the "whys" will not be answered now. Until we gain the understanding that this time is for learning to trust in Him, to follow Him because it is the right course to take; that we need to strive to live according to His laws, not because we fear the penalty or punishment of violation, but because those laws bring what is best for every segment of His creation. For me, the most important lesson is simple: Living His way results in the peace and harmony all rational humans desire.

These are the beginnings of my ruminations.

From the Aspen Grove: may this day be a good one for you, and may the Great God who loves you bless you and yours.