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One can't describe the feeling of catching a wild West Virginia Trout with a rod you built and a fly you tied.
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Wednesday, December 31, 2008
New Years Eve 2008
5:04 PM | Posted by
David |
I have often pondered the words to such a famous song that we all hear this time of the year. Especially tonight. This history of Auld Lang Syne is an old one. It's an old Scottish tune penned in the 1700's . The lyrics to me are very confusing for I hold dearly to acquaintances of old and cherish each one for different reasons. For some I have lost contact with. Others are simply by this electronic marvel we all use. But each one so valuable to me. They span this country from east to west. From a fly fishing guide in Montana, to those that still live in Beckley and have chosen to include me on their list of friends. There are those that began as total strangers I happen to meet on a trout stream somewhere. Some I have worked with and some that have passed on to another life or world. Yet, each I hold dearly and on this night each year I make a point to think of them. I wonder, who will enter my life in the coming year and what all it may hold.
To each who have taken the time to read this blog and leave me a comment, and to all who walk along this pathway of life with me, I sincerely wish each and every one of you a very Happy New Year. May 2009 hold for you good health, wealth and smiles. Let's all share a cup of kindness and cheer. Happy New Year...
To each who have taken the time to read this blog and leave me a comment, and to all who walk along this pathway of life with me, I sincerely wish each and every one of you a very Happy New Year. May 2009 hold for you good health, wealth and smiles. Let's all share a cup of kindness and cheer. Happy New Year...
Saturday, December 20, 2008
A Christmas Memory
6:49 PM | Posted by
David |
Our minds, at times, are very selective in what they choose to readily retain. I have forgotten most of the algebra I knew or faces I have met along life's journey. So when certain things tend to remain strong year after year, I often wonder why. It's at this time of the year one such memory comes to visit. It's triggered often by a snow fall at dusk. Especially if there are street lights around. It was Christmas Eve, and my father was in the VA hospital in Richmond, Virginia. My mother and brother were making their way across the mountain in a terrible snow storm and were late. I thought, at 17, I'd spend Christmas Eve alone. I worked till close at the store that evening. Close to dusk, it started to snow. I can remember Henry coming to me and telling me to make a feed run to Grandview before it got too bad . He said there were snow flakes as big as a silver dollar. I went down stairs and loaded the feed on the truck, only for Henry to send down word that it was already too bad.
That night as I walked home from work, I made the only tracks down the highway. The tire tracks of the car that just drove by had already filled in. I stopped for a moment in the middle of the road, thinking how warm it was and watching the snow in the light of the street lamp. There have been 59 Christmases...each special in its own way, but this memory is always here this time of the year. I was asked just recently where I'd like to spend Christmas if I could spend it anywhere I wished. Oh, how I'd love to have one more Beaver Christmas to build memories on.
That night as I walked home from work, I made the only tracks down the highway. The tire tracks of the car that just drove by had already filled in. I stopped for a moment in the middle of the road, thinking how warm it was and watching the snow in the light of the street lamp. There have been 59 Christmases...each special in its own way, but this memory is always here this time of the year. I was asked just recently where I'd like to spend Christmas if I could spend it anywhere I wished. Oh, how I'd love to have one more Beaver Christmas to build memories on.
Two Journeys
6:28 PM | Posted by
David |
This is suppose to be the most traveled weekend of the year. People will be traveling to the four corners of the States and other countries, to be with their loved ones this time of the year. I can remember tonight the first Christmas I was back in the states after my tour in South East Asia.
I was stationed in Cheyenne, Wyoming . I had saved up my leave and was going to take the last two weeks of December off and drive across country to be home for Christmas. My wife was looking forward to the trip and was so very excited to see her family again. I had just bought my first new car. It was a 1970 Dodge Challenger. The trip should be easy and enjoyable. I had offered to give a friend of mine from the photo squadron I was in a ride as far as Columbus, Ohio. He was heading to Baltimore. Any little bit helped as far as air fare was concerned. Plus, it would be nice to have the company. We headed out in a snow storm. Not what I had planned. But once I was in Nebraska, the stars were out, the land flat and the speed limit was up to me. You could plot your direction and progress by what radio stations you could pick up clear, or how near empty the thermos was. I think I wore out an Anne Murray Christmas tape on the way home. Before we knew it, the night had passed and we were well into the Midwest and closing fast on Ohio. My friend's flight was at 8 that evening and we'd make it in plenty of time. My wife was in the back and managed to sleep most of the trip.
Soon I could make out the outline of the West Virginia hills across the river and was so close to home. How wonderful that trip was. I had a purpose, I had comfort, I had conversation and friends. I could stop and rest or eat when ever I needed to. I could even close my eyes and nap while my wife drove. I managed to drive clear across the country from the Rocky Mountains to the Ohio Valley in just under 24 hours. I had a reason. After all, it was Christmas.
Yet long ago, there was another journey home. One far more important than mine. It's over 90 miles from Galilee to Bethlehem. It's a rough, difficult journey on any given day. Add to that, the lay of the land, the hardships along the way and the fact a young woman is about to give birth to her first child. Others traveled as well for the census and taxation. There was no room for rest or sleep. Much less to give birth. There was no way to sleep while someone else guided the donkey. There was little to no way to find comfort in her condition, and the worry and concern had to be so much a part of her journey. Yet she too had a reason. It was about to be the first Christmas. Those to come this special night were never forgotten. Especially the birth of our Savior. We complain about sitting in traffic and waiting in line at a crowed store. We travel, and we get antsy and irritable. How soon we forget the beginning of Christmas.
It's not that times have changed. It's that reasons have changed. I, for one, am glad another made that long hard trip to Bethlehem. After all, it was the beginning of such a wonderful celebration. It has always been my favorite I guess. As a youngster, I'd hike to the high ridge behind Raleigh #7 mine where the holly and mistletoe grew wild. I'd cut hemlock pine with it's thick boughs and cones for garland. When I got older, I started a tradition with a friend of mine. We'd drive to the ridge and both take old duffel bags and fill them full of Laurel and holly. We'd find ropes of ground pine and coil it up to bring back. We'd then go to her home and decorate . Year after year, till we both graduated from High School, we'd make our journey to the ridge...walk the old stone fence along the Richmond farm and fill our sacks full. Her home was so beautiful at Christmas. It often looked as though a artist has drawn it all. After almost 40 years of separation, we made contact a few years back. We kept in touch and caught up on news and trips back in time. She passed away shortly after we made contact. Yet as memories of Christmas past hold so strong with me, so do the memories of her.
I was once told I was a dreamer, that I tend to live in a Currier and Ives state of mind...perhaps with a little Norman Rockwell added in for good measure. Perhaps they were right. For I do tend to see Christmas through those lenses. I guess that's why I love Marietta so much this time of the year. The small College town has that air of dreams of the past and desires of the future. I wonder tonight as the fire cracks in my fireplace and I see the snow blow by the French doors, what Mary thought on that journey. What plans perhaps she had or what concerns Joesph had for his wife and son. I watch my grandchildren and their excitement this time of the year. I see others complain and become bitter over the holiday. I then wonder, if with each generation, do they grow one step farther from that Journey long, long ago? I hope not. I can not stop time or generations. Yet, I can remember the snow covered stone fences on the ridge. Our breath as fog and frost preceded us...the red holly berries accented in the snow and the Orange Firethorn. I can still smell the coal fires through out Beaver. I can remember part of my job at Henry's was boxing up treat boxes of oranges and apples and candies of all sorts. He was a kind and generous man. Just before Christmas of each year, I'd make my rounds delivering groceries along with the gift boxes. He knew which families had young ones and their needs. These things, along with a journey long ago, is what I think of at Christmas. I wish I could set this tradition once again with my own. Sad to say that power is not mine. It has to come from the heart, not a suggestion, or a dream set by artists long ago. There is, in fact, a true Christmas spirit, it's in one's heart, not the conception of an artist or a vision in one's mind......Merry Christmas, each and every reader.
For today, in the city of David, there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. Luke 2:11
I was stationed in Cheyenne, Wyoming . I had saved up my leave and was going to take the last two weeks of December off and drive across country to be home for Christmas. My wife was looking forward to the trip and was so very excited to see her family again. I had just bought my first new car. It was a 1970 Dodge Challenger. The trip should be easy and enjoyable. I had offered to give a friend of mine from the photo squadron I was in a ride as far as Columbus, Ohio. He was heading to Baltimore. Any little bit helped as far as air fare was concerned. Plus, it would be nice to have the company. We headed out in a snow storm. Not what I had planned. But once I was in Nebraska, the stars were out, the land flat and the speed limit was up to me. You could plot your direction and progress by what radio stations you could pick up clear, or how near empty the thermos was. I think I wore out an Anne Murray Christmas tape on the way home. Before we knew it, the night had passed and we were well into the Midwest and closing fast on Ohio. My friend's flight was at 8 that evening and we'd make it in plenty of time. My wife was in the back and managed to sleep most of the trip.
Soon I could make out the outline of the West Virginia hills across the river and was so close to home. How wonderful that trip was. I had a purpose, I had comfort, I had conversation and friends. I could stop and rest or eat when ever I needed to. I could even close my eyes and nap while my wife drove. I managed to drive clear across the country from the Rocky Mountains to the Ohio Valley in just under 24 hours. I had a reason. After all, it was Christmas.
Yet long ago, there was another journey home. One far more important than mine. It's over 90 miles from Galilee to Bethlehem. It's a rough, difficult journey on any given day. Add to that, the lay of the land, the hardships along the way and the fact a young woman is about to give birth to her first child. Others traveled as well for the census and taxation. There was no room for rest or sleep. Much less to give birth. There was no way to sleep while someone else guided the donkey. There was little to no way to find comfort in her condition, and the worry and concern had to be so much a part of her journey. Yet she too had a reason. It was about to be the first Christmas. Those to come this special night were never forgotten. Especially the birth of our Savior. We complain about sitting in traffic and waiting in line at a crowed store. We travel, and we get antsy and irritable. How soon we forget the beginning of Christmas.
It's not that times have changed. It's that reasons have changed. I, for one, am glad another made that long hard trip to Bethlehem. After all, it was the beginning of such a wonderful celebration. It has always been my favorite I guess. As a youngster, I'd hike to the high ridge behind Raleigh #7 mine where the holly and mistletoe grew wild. I'd cut hemlock pine with it's thick boughs and cones for garland. When I got older, I started a tradition with a friend of mine. We'd drive to the ridge and both take old duffel bags and fill them full of Laurel and holly. We'd find ropes of ground pine and coil it up to bring back. We'd then go to her home and decorate . Year after year, till we both graduated from High School, we'd make our journey to the ridge...walk the old stone fence along the Richmond farm and fill our sacks full. Her home was so beautiful at Christmas. It often looked as though a artist has drawn it all. After almost 40 years of separation, we made contact a few years back. We kept in touch and caught up on news and trips back in time. She passed away shortly after we made contact. Yet as memories of Christmas past hold so strong with me, so do the memories of her.
I was once told I was a dreamer, that I tend to live in a Currier and Ives state of mind...perhaps with a little Norman Rockwell added in for good measure. Perhaps they were right. For I do tend to see Christmas through those lenses. I guess that's why I love Marietta so much this time of the year. The small College town has that air of dreams of the past and desires of the future. I wonder tonight as the fire cracks in my fireplace and I see the snow blow by the French doors, what Mary thought on that journey. What plans perhaps she had or what concerns Joesph had for his wife and son. I watch my grandchildren and their excitement this time of the year. I see others complain and become bitter over the holiday. I then wonder, if with each generation, do they grow one step farther from that Journey long, long ago? I hope not. I can not stop time or generations. Yet, I can remember the snow covered stone fences on the ridge. Our breath as fog and frost preceded us...the red holly berries accented in the snow and the Orange Firethorn. I can still smell the coal fires through out Beaver. I can remember part of my job at Henry's was boxing up treat boxes of oranges and apples and candies of all sorts. He was a kind and generous man. Just before Christmas of each year, I'd make my rounds delivering groceries along with the gift boxes. He knew which families had young ones and their needs. These things, along with a journey long ago, is what I think of at Christmas. I wish I could set this tradition once again with my own. Sad to say that power is not mine. It has to come from the heart, not a suggestion, or a dream set by artists long ago. There is, in fact, a true Christmas spirit, it's in one's heart, not the conception of an artist or a vision in one's mind......Merry Christmas, each and every reader.
For today, in the city of David, there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. Luke 2:11
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