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New Memories Meet the Old

I looked out the window. The neighbors’ house was completely dark. It was the middle of the night in the early morning hours. Well, I guess I couldn’t call the neighbors to see if they wanted to leave early for our adventure. I was up so figured everybody else should be, too.

In the quiet of the night, I could almost hear my dad say in a whispered voice, “Are you girls awake? Do you want to leave early?” Back then, we were usually wide awake and already dressed before our feet hit the floor. As became our custom, we always left earlier than planned because none of us could sleep. But that was when I was a kid! I’m no longer a kid – well, in age at least. And yet, even after all these years, the night before we are to leave on a trip, I can’t sleep.

So, here we are on the road. 

I looked out the back window but all I could see was a loaded U-Haul trailer attached to our big Ram. I still look through my childhood’s eyes, but instead of seeing a big truck, I see a ’57 Dodge with me laying in the back window. And just like my childhood, I am still amazed at the shining golden wheat and lush green corn fields in flat wide country. 

Today as we approached the Midwest, we took some country roads and slid by the skirt tails of St. Louis. Many areas along the rivers were flooded. We cross over small creeks about the size of an irrigation ditch, swollen dark muddy rivers, and larger rivers like the Tennessee, Ohio, Mississippi, and Missouri Rivers. Our road took us through Boonville, which is where my great grandfather, one of his sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins began their wagon train trip. They journeyed along sections of the Oregon Trail as they made their way to Montana, and endured many hardships. Who knows? We may have traveled some of the same road.

We took a short cut and bypassed Kansas City altogether. Daddy would have been proud. Our route was akin to some of his shortcuts. The ride down Missouri country back roads was definitely a bonus. We drove through some gorgeous farmland. Our road led through some old small towns that looked like great places to explore. One of the towns we went through had all but folded up its streets as abandoned buildings overgrown with trees and weeds, and broken windows baring glass teeth shards barely hung on the frames. I wondered what those little towns were like in their heyday when life roamed the streets as families went in and out of stores along main street and teens gathered in front of drive-ins. Sorting through my memories, I knew what some of them were once like.

Somehow, I think no matter how old I get, I will still be that little girl filled with wide-eyed wonder.

Our adventure continues – new memories to be made – old memories to share. 

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Innocent Love

Black and white arms grasped each other and wrapped around the couple who had just exchanged their wedding vows. A black arm released the others and raised upward to join the prayers that drifted as a sweet fragrance toward heaven. 

The wedding was the sweetest I had ever witnessed. When the bride made her entrance, the groom beamed and flashed a smile that became a permanent fixture. He had a moment to see his betrothed previously when they had their “first look.” He was in awe of her and told her she was gorgeous. At the ceremony as the two stood together before the officiants and attendants, she focused her eyes toward the sound of his voice. Had she been able to see his eyes upon her, she would have witnessed the same adoration the guests saw. 

An innocent look of love was the main attraction all evening. After the ceremony when the music began to play, the call for the first dance was made. As the newlyweds made their way to the dance floor, the groom quietly told the bride just to sway back and forth with the music. He would lead her. He would be her eyes. As others made their way to the dance floor, he told her every detail and who joined in the dance. He led her gently and treated her as a priceless jewel – a queen.

You see, the two were more than just another couple. Though the bride was visually impaired, at the age of twenty-one, she moved to a large city and lived on her own. She worked at the same job for 20+ years, making her way alone and often unseen by thousands of seeing eyes. Yet, she never gave up. The groom had his own obstacles to overcome. He, too, managed to be a faithful and hard worker and have a place of his own. My admiration for both of them is unmeasured.

But there is more to this story. It’s a story of family. For years, their families prayed for God to send them someone special, someone to love, a forever friend, and someone to call their own.  I was honored to be part of their special day and am so thankful that they were given the gift of pure innocent love.

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It Was Worth It All

Sheer exhaustion pulled the man to his feet and dragged him to his bedroom. His shoulders sagged under an unseen weight. He pulled back the covers as anguish and shock slid between the sheets, spent emotions falling to the floor.

It had happened so quickly. It seemed as if thirty-five years spiraled into a spinning vortex. The whirlwind tossed memories round and round. And then, as quickly as it spun, it came to a stop – a dreaded sudden stop.

Loneliness swept over the tired figure of a man who lay still and depleted of strength. He fell into a semblance of sleep and woke with the realization that it had not been just a bad dream. No, it was real.

Now what? Could he go through the motions demanded of the day and the days ahead? Would the pain ever ease?

Everywhere he looked, he saw her – or glimpses of her. He had tried to give her the things she wanted. Sure, they had moments of disagreement, as every couple on their journey of marriage. Their years together had been worth it all. The companionship and love shared through joys and tears had been spent well. He would willingly pay the price again.

He no longer stepped over the oxygen lifeline she had sometimes used. He no longer would go to town to grab her favorite burger to satisfy her taste. He no longer would relinquish the tv remote to her control. He no longer would discuss the world’s events or laugh with her over the antics and pictures of the grandkids.

Where did the time go? It too, had been swallowed into the whirlpool that spun out of control as it consumed the last grain of sand in the hourglass. One marriage ended with “until death do us part.” 

Just a couple of days before, another couple stood on the brink of marriage. A ceremony filled with tender, sweet, innocent love was performed before witnesses as newlyweds began their life’s journey together. They made that same vow, “until death do us part.” The course of life continues – one marriage closes a chapter – another begins.

Though we don’t understand why things happen as they do, it is a blessing to close a chapter filled with love and devotion and know, “it was worth it all.”

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Beckhams

A tale from preacher Buck

The Beckhams were retired country folks. They lived near the sleepy southern village of Concord for most of their 58 years of married life. Mr. Beckham was pushing eighty, but he stood straight and tall without an ounce of extra weight. He worked an acre of crowder peas and corn with some squash and tomatoes on the side. Evelyn Beckham was a small, gray haired lady who did a lot of canning and gave most of it away because she didn’t want to see anything going to waste. They were a grand couple.

The road to Beckham seemed two miles long going out and a half a mile long coming back. The dirt road ran by the house which sat a car parking and a half from the ditch bank. The front porch rested on three-foot pillars and the Beckhams often sat on the porch in a matched pair of rocking chairs. But this sultry day Mr. Beckham was not in sight, just his wife. Evelyn Beckham was talking to a young man, whom I recognized as an insurance salesman. As he rose from Mr. Beckham’s rocker she said, “I’m sorry, maybe you can catch my husband home some other time.”

I stepped out of the car and spoke to the salesman as he left.

“I’ll call back,” the young man shouted through his opened car window.

“I’ll warn my husband,” the lady of the house replied.  Then she turned to me.  “Come in, Preacher,” she said.  “We’ll go inside.  Mr. Beckham will be glad to see you.”

I sat in a chair across from the kitchen door.  “I’ll get you a glass of tea.”  Mrs. Beckham stepped into the kitchen and spoke to an unseen occupant.  “It’s the preacher,” she said.  “You can come out now.”

There was a rustle in the corner at the kitchen table which was covered with a red checked oil cloth that nearly touched the floor.  Two long shoes pushed back from under the table cloth.  A pair of long legs followed as Mr. Beckham backed out from under the table.

“Almost got me,” he said.  “Next time warn me sooner.”

Some years later I called on some parishioners in a large house on a busy street in Augusta, Georgia.  I thought I heard a television playing as I got out of the car.  However, when I walked across the porch everything was quiet.

I knocked on the front door.  No one answered.

The next Sunday in church a little boy told me, “Come see us again preacher.  The last time the house was a mess and we weren’t home.”

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The Toothbrush Adventure

a true story by my Guest Author, my Dad

Talk about excitement.  We had a new car, and we were going to town.  Going to town made our day.  Sometimes it made our month.  A trip to town in the early thirties meant a three hour drive over dusty roads, an overnight stay in a hotel, and eating in a restaurant.

  • Bud and ‘Niter with the kids

The new car was a second hand Studebaker that Gib McFarland had tipped over.  That automobile was a speedster!  Story was that McFarland had driven FIFTY miles and hour.  Fortunately, he wasn’t going that fast when he ran in the ditch and tipped the automobile its side.  Daddy didn’t run into ditches, and, when he drove too fast, Mama would scream, “Bud, you’re doing thirty‑five!”

We hadn’t expected to go to town.  It was July, and we had already been to town in June.  The surprise trip came about because of the new hired man.

This new hand was a cowboy type who had worked on a neighboring ranch.  After branding time, he got laid off.  He came up to the sawmill for work to hold him over until haying season. The would be cowboy didn’t bring a horse with him, but we could tell that his heart was in riding and not in stacking lumber.  He was outfitted with a big hat, shiny spurs, and chaps.  He took his spurs off, but he kept the chaps on.  They were leather chaps with floppy legs.  He wore them every day, even on Sundays.  He wore them to breakfast.  He wore them to dinner.  He wore them to supper.  Maybe he slept in them.  Anyway he earned the name of “Chaps”.  (Pronounced, “SHAPS”).  If it wasn’t for him we’d have waited until August to go to Big Timber.

The hired man was a neat fellow with good teeth.  After every meal, Chaps picked his teeth.  He was polite and put his toothpick back in the holder when he was through with it.  The rest of the logging crew tried to get their toothpicks before the new man put his back.  Chaps combed his hair and brushed his teeth twice a day.  On the day we went to town, he came out of washroom with a toothbrush.  He held it up and said, “I’ve tried them all and like this one best.”

It was Daddy’s tooth brush.  My father turned to mother and said, “Niter, get a clean dress on, we’re going to town.”

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Rejection

I came across a folder that contained a whole stack of papers. Page after of page of cover letters accompanied by returned manuscripts all had one word in common, “rejected.” Why did Daddy keep all those rejection letters? After all, he was a published author who wrote across a broad spectrum of topics.

Some of the publication companies required a fee to even read a manuscript for consideration. That could get quite expensive, especially considering the number of “returned” letters as well as those approved for publication. 

On one such letter, Daddy wrote, “Don’t give up!” Further down the page another notation caught my eye, “Rejection? A $50.00 possibility.” Wow! That’s why he kept the letters! They were reminders of all the possibilities literally at his fingertips. Just below that note was some more of his scribbling, “This article was sold to Scouting for ten times what High Adventure could pay!” Had he given in to rejection, he never would have tried again. Sometimes rejection comes in disguise as blessings. 

I guess we can learn some life lessons. If you’ve been rejected, it might a blessing in disguise. There may be something better in store. Or maybe, if you have invested in something – money, time, caregiving, love, compassion – the return is far greater than the investment. 

Rejection? A possibility!

Don’t give up!

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Montana

I was going through some old family files and ran across an interesting tidbit.  A little notebook riddled with bits and pieces of writing caught my eye. Two small pages contained a “Statement by Chet Huntley at Montana Centennial Dinner in Washington D. C., April 17, 1964.”

So it was that Chet Huntley, the famed newscaster from Montana, gave the introductory remarks at the Montana Centennial Dinner. After a few opening remarks and one “bunkhouse story,” he continued his speech with picturesque words that proved his familiarity and admiration for the State of his birth and growing up years. It was almost he offered a challenge.

“Have you ever stood on the platform of the depot in Whitehall and watched the North Coast Limitied snake down the eastern abutment of the Continental Divide into Pipestone and on into the Whitehall block with Pete Ross, Ramblin’ Jack Wolverton, or Jim Berry at the Throttle?”

  • Pipestone area

“Have you ever sung the music of Montana names: Choteau, Cascade, Missoula, Pend O’Reille, Big Horn, Carbon, Sweetgrass, Stillwater, Silver Bow, and Glacier? Roundup, Little Butte, Judith Gap, Harlowton, Armington, Spion Kop, Great Falls? And the ridiculous little name of Two Dot?” 

  • Glacier National Park
  • little town of Two Dot

“The Belts and Little Belts, Bitterroots and Tobacco Roots, Big Horns and Absarokees, the Crazies and the Little Rockies? Do you know Deer Lodge, Red Lodge, or Lodgegrass, Plentywood, Scobey, Cutbank, Boulder, Ekalaka, Glendive, Kalispell, Big Timber or Niehart?”

  • Big Timber

“Have you ever seen dawn at the Gates of the Mountains or listened to the morning call of a meadowlark in a Lewiston wheatfield?” “Have you ever seen the Crazies by moonlight or have you gathered stardust from Hegben or Flathead?”

  • Gates of the Mountains
  • Meadowlark of Montana
  • Crazy Mountains

“These are some of the experiences, and places and names that bind us together, for we know them intimately and we can feel that they are ours.”

This portion of Huntley’s speech can be heard at:

https://soundcloud.com/montana-historical-society/chet-huntleys-montana

  • Madison River Valley with Tobacco Roots on the horizon
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Just Take My Word for It

I did something very brave today – not because I wanted to, but because I knew if I didn’t act quick, I would face a more undesirable situation. It wasn’t something as simple as jumping out of a perfectly good airplane and skydiving through the air. No, it was much worse. I came face to face with a beady eyed snake. Now anyone who knows me, knows I don’t like snakes (or spiders for that matter). I had no other choice. There was no one to come to my rescue. I didn’t even have my phone to call anyone.

As I came in the side door at my dad’s house, I saw the offensive ophidian. (That word even sounds offensive, doesn’t it?) Did you know snakes are prolific at climbing stairs and they don’t even have any legs? Well, that black and gray snake’s head was above the top step and he was about to pull its curved body onto the floor. I said, “Oh no you don’t!” But what was I going to do? I had to act quick. I knew if I went for help, that critter would be hiding under something and scare the bejeebees out of me whenever I got back.

  • The offensive ophidian of the day was this guy’s cousin.

There was no other option. I ran up the steps and grabbed the first stick-looking contraption I could find, slid it under one of his coils and headed down the steps, and said, “Don’t you dare jump off this stick!” Can you guess what happened? You got it! That critter jumped off the stick and slithered to the edge of the top of the steps that led to the basement. 

I was on the verge of saying a bad word, but I didn’t. Instead, I told that slippery slimy creature, “You’re not getting away”, and then, stick still in hand, I hit it. Now don’t judge me! I didn’t bash its head, I just hit it on the backside and smushed it’s fat body in the crack between the step and the door. Then, I put the stick under the offensive serpent, lifted him carefully, and tossed him into the yard. I said, “You’d better get out of here fast or you are toast!” He looked at me with those beady eyes but didn’t say a word, nor did he even stick his forked tongue out. He slithered away with a kink in his belly, moving very slowly. 

I didn’t wait around. Instead, I made a quick getaway and went to the neighbors’ house and told them my tale. There was grand applause, and I took a bow. Now, I am not a master at snake handling, nor do I want to accomplish that feat. 

They had the nerve to ask, “How big was it?” What kind of question is that? It was huge! If I would have had a talking measuring tape, I’m sure it would have lied and said that six-foot snake was merely two feet long. As soon as I took my husband over to verify that it was not just a tall tale, the limbless slitherer slipped away into the woods. It’s a good thing my husband didn’t see it all stretched out like I did. He might deny my claims, but don’t listen to him. Just take my word for it!

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Join the Chorus

The morning was perfect – a cool breeze tickled the wind chimes, and birds flitted here and there. I opened the windows to let the cool morning air into the house.

As I sat down at the piano, my song was joined by a bird singing harmony. A male house finch with his bright red chest puffed out, sang from the top of his little bird voice box. He flew away whistling his tune. A black crested chickadee added its soft percussion rhythm, along with the humming of doves’ wings as they took to the sky. The wind blew through the trees and shrubs and the roses danced. It seemed as if all creation joined in praise of a glorious day!

  • Carolina Chickadee
  • Carolina Chickadee
  • Tufted Titmouse
  • Tufted Titmouse
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Seasons of Life

After a few unseasonably warm days, the temperature dropped. The roses that had started to bloom were hit by a hard freeze. Flowers drooped, petals shriveled, and green leaves turned brown. For weeks I wondered if they would pull through.

If you saw my roses now, you would never know the trauma they experienced. They are absolutely gorgeous, the bushes full and the blossoms vibrant. When I look at the roses, I see more than just pretty sweet-smelling flowers. I see seasons of life. 

Green leaves appear as the first indication of life. Soon, small buds make their entrance. When they begin to open, as if giving birth, life emerges. Each layer of petals folds back into its prime. All too quickly, they succumb to time and the blossoms fade. Rain, age, and wind causes them to release their velvety garments, leaving behind an empty hull as testimony to life that was once there.

For every flower that falls, it seems a new bud pushes forth from the deep-rooted stems. Even after the season has gone and the roses enter a stage of dormancy, there is hope that life will return. 

Life always finds a way.

  • Can you find the baby Praying Mantis?