Thank You, Veterans

This Memorial Day has more significance to me than any in the past. After four months of taking testimonials from veterans from WWII through Afghanistan, my appreciation for their service has grown. This includes the veterans who never saw combat, but  made their promise to do whatever and go wherever their country asked.

Each branch of the service and each war zone had its special issues but all veterans have strong bonds of commonality. They were willing to fight for the rest of us who enjoy the freedoms that we could be in danger of losing on the home front. Freedom does not come easy. It has a price. If our veterans serve "over there", the rest of us Americans should support them by our willingness to fight for the freedoms too many of us take for granted. That is not a simple fight. Issues are complex. We can remain open and continue to read, listen and learn. It takes time and energy, but if we remain gullible and thoughtless and follow the clever, simplistic ads that bombard us everywhere, or believe that we should follow one path because that is the way we have always done things, or we have discomfort with change, or, if we pursue change simply for the sake of change, we will, in time, lose what our veterans have fought for since our country took root.

Happy Memorial Day from the Black Hills of South Dakota.

Mortality Matters

Many of us ignore death most of the time. We gloss it over with words such as "he passed", "she crossed over", "he is in a better place".

When I was young we said "died", period. We had wakes (visitations) that lasted a day or more. The body was viewed in the home and I even remember when I was a tot that I was held up to my uncle's body to give him a parting kiss. (That was pretty traumatic at the time, but I did face death head on, with no frills about it).

One of the ways we look at death as children is through our pets that come and go from our lives. Each time a special pet dies we grieve at our loss, often with vague realization of the permanency of their absence. If we do not lose a parent, friend or sibling until we are adults, we remain distant from the realities of the brevity of life. Life feels ever so long and permanent in our youth.

Each time I attend a funeral, which become more numerous as I age, I re-look at my own dying. It is not an easy look for the most part. In a few years I will be a blip on the screen of life and after those who knew me are gone, there will be no memories of me on this earth.

This is a reminder to make the best of the time I have to live my life to the fullest, and that will be unique to me....the road only I can take.

It always gets back to "hello, good-bye, hello" until the last goodbye.

A neighbor died recently. He was quiet, thoughtful, gentle and unprovoking. I would like to be that kind of neighbor, although that is not my nature. I guess the best kind of neighbor I may hope to be is one that is not critical, is accepting and available in emergencies.

One of my veterans that I interviewed died around the same time. He was a Korean War veteran, and alert and healthy when we visited a few weeks before his death. I was shocked when I saw his obituary. I learned that he died as a result of a fall. He had an opportunity to fight for his country one more time with his offering of his testimonial for Save Our VA in Hot Springs. He was proud of his story that was going to Washington as a voice of one of the veterans who cared about other veterans.

The deaths of both of these men reminded me of the numerous "good-byes" I have said during my lifetime and the gratitude I have for the ways in which each of these individuals have touched my life in one way or another.

Life is short. Each departure is a remembrance and a preparation for my own final "good-bye", and each one a memorial to the preciousness of "hello".

Rain, Glorious Rain!

What is the dirt without the rain?

For those of us who live in the high desert area of the country, rain is welcomed whenever it arrives. Our winter was snowless, with a predictor of a drought to come. That may still be what awaits us, but last night this renewing soaking rain began and is still coming down as I write, bringing hope that drought may not dry out our forest, as it did five years ago before the out-of-control wildfire of 7-7-7 that devastated many homes and affected our entire community.

The soaker rain is the best. Much of the water in the hard rains washes off into the river. This marvelous soaker seeps into the ground that lays so hard and parched this spring. The flowers are going "aaaaaah", the gardens are being drenched, the robins are enjoying an easy feast of the water- logged worms, and we people are rejoicing and sighing with relief. We may have a fire-free summer after all.

Powwow on Pine Ridge

Border towns near the Indian reservations, more often than not, have higher pockets of overt racism than other communities. When any minority increases near a population of "others", the prejudice increases. In urban areas an influx of another color, religious, or culture group can cause fear, resentment or hostility. Breaching walls between two diverse groups is difficult. It has been so since the beginning of contacts between different tribes in ancient times, to the invasion of one country into another with natives residing there, to a minority group moving into an established area. Differences abound from language, customs, foods, clothing, beliefs, music, and traditions handed down from ancestors. Those differences can cause misunderstanding.

Change and discomfort go hand in hand. Reaching across bridges of prejudice can arouse feelings of anxiety that some may prefer to cover with generalities, assumptions and self-talk that put the other group in an inferior light. Some would rather explain differences with "I have the better way and I will avoid you so that I will not feel insecure about my lifestyle or threatened by yours".

I have learned over my many years that the more a person is comfortable in their own skin, the more that person can appreciate and understand the other person, even though that understanding may be limited.

Last February many Native Americans from the nearby reservations took a step into our world by joining us in our march/ride on our Hot Springs VA protesting the announced closure of this "national treasure". Veterans from the tribes, veterans from the area and the townspeople from this Veteran's Town joined together. We were all united in the cause to help our veterans who were feeling angry and abandoned by the possible closing of a hospital that had been successfully treating veterans since the Civil War.

The Indians arrived in town on the day of the march with their war ponies, war bonnets and native regalia. Before the march, during a ceremony in the park, they danced a native dance and shared with us their tradition of showing respect to all veterans. The Lakota, who come from a long line of warriors, have never lost their respect for their veterans. During the Vietnam time the veterans from the reservation returned to a warm welcome for having served their country, unlike many other veterans who faced scorn, taunts, and tomatoes and eggs thrown at them by fellow citizens who had not served in the military.

Our community, a border town to Pine Ridge, was extremely touched by the Indians who marched with other veterans and residents from Hot Springs. We wanted to make some gesture in return. We are doing that by supporting a powwow they have each June honoring their veterans. Some of our citizens have met with the tribe on Pine Ridge, offering to assist in honoring the Native American veterans during one day of their four day event which includes dancing, feasting, awards and an intial ride by the veterans on their horses from Fort Robinson to Pine Ridge.

It is an historic step. We found a bridge with all veterans united in one cause. What a gift our struggle has brought to us! No matter what the outcome for saving our VA in Hot Springs, we have created a common bond. My hope is that bond will continue to grow, bringing greater understanding between our cultures and appreciation of the differences. We are, after all, more alike on the inside, than the external diverseness which has brought so much separateness and mistrust over the years.

Dirt, Glorious Dirt!

The greenhouses and garden sections of stores are buzzing these days. Customers are roaming the aisles, admiring and selecting their choices of vegetables or flowers. The air is filled with excitement, as well as the bees and butterflies flitting among the blossoms.

Every May it is the same. Eager humans and hungry insects are enthused about the new life emerging with the season.

What is it that energizes us? When we were children we played in the dirt and sand, constructing roads, castles, dams and forts. We sloshed through mud, never missing a tempting puddle. We may even have helped our parents with planting the spring garden, digging the holes and patting the moist soil firmly around each plant, longing for the juicy tomatoes or sweet peas that would arrive in too long a wait for an impatient child.

There is still something rejuvenating about digging in the fresh earth, planting our chosen plants, packing the dirt over the roots and watering the earth to secure the growth of the fledglings into colorful flowers or tasty berries or vegies. There is nothing as flavorful as the strawberries, tomatoes or corn from our own garden. There is nothing as beautiful as the flowers that flow out of our planters, bringing color into our lives each year from our childhood and into adulthood.

The plants and the dirt bring calm and order into a sometimes confusing and noisy world. Roots reach into the earth, restoring familiar roots into our lives. Late in the winter we lingered over the seed catalogs, longing for the season of the rich, dark earth and twisting, root-bound potted plants, finally upon us in this renewing month of May.

Racism Revisited Again and Again

One of my all-time favorite books is Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird." I frequently re-read books I loved, but this is the only one that I finished one night about ten o'clock, laid it on my bookstand for a few minutes, picked it back up, and re-read it from cover to cover during the rest of that night.

I read it to my eighth grade English class one semester. One by one the books appeared on the desks of my students until almost the entire class had purchased their own copy. I knew then that I was not the only one to learn and be captivated by this masterpiece.

The message, "You never understand another until you climb into his skin and walk around in it" was embedded in my consciousness. During my years of discovering my own racism emerging I recalled that message.

I broaden the word racism to include all forms of prejudice. I acknowledge it when I am biased against the opposite sex. How often have I misunderstood my own husband, realizing in time that some of my frustration involved the fact that he is male and I am not? How many parents are confused and confounded by their teenager, who is certainly from another planet at times? It can start when the rebellious two year old discovers the power of the word "no". Age, sex, political, religious, race and any other "differences" between two or more people can cause anger, misunderstanding and separations.

Color and cultural differences are at the root of many clashes in our world, just as problems erupt between parents, parents and children, and neighbors and friends, greater disparities often occur between groups with a larger physical separation.

What lessens the divide among people is dialogue and very active listening. Even then can we ever totally understand another person, even those close to us? It can take a lifetime of togetherness and listening to close the gap between a couple. If both work at it, the closeness increases.

If there is physical and cultural separation, the struggle for understanding is more difficult, but it is often through this struggle that we come to understand ourselves more fully.

In reflection, I know that even living inside of my skin for a lifetime I do not always understand myself, but I do know this, the more I uncover who I am with my hopes and fears, strengths and weaknesses, the clearer is my understanding of others. Close and empathetic friends and paid listeners such as psychotherapists, can speed up our understanding of ourselves and others. In the end, we are, after all, more alike than different, no matter our color, background, family or culture.

We can choose to disagree while still accepting others for who they are, and who they are attempting to become. Life is all about becoming, after all is said and done. To me the greatest adventure is discovering myself and a tiny part of the others who share my world.

Grackle Wars

Every Spring since living in town we have been invaded by noisy, pushy grackles. At first two arrive. I can live with that, but soon they are joined by many others, intimidating my usual smaller birds that dine at my feeders. They have been known to eat smaller birds and steal their food.

Because of their aggressive behavior, and because I can no longer enjoy my regular chickadees, colorful red and yellow finches and other smaller birds, I have declared war on these intruders. The only birds remaining in their territory (our yard) are the morning doves and robins, although both of them tend to shy away when a flock of grackles appear.

Last year I removed two of their nests before the eggs arrived. They simply moved to the taller trees in the area. In fact, this year they made their nests out of range from the start. They have long memories.

I asked my husband to hit one with a pellet gone to warn off the others. He refused to help. This year I purchased a Stinger type of pellet gun that I could load and shoot. In my first shooting attempt, I missed and they flew off, close enough to taunt me with their arrogant attitude. From then on I could not get close enough to shoot. They recognize me at once and fly out of my range. They are smart birds, I give them that.

For now I have given up. I know that I will stop filling the feeders. They manage to feed from them in spite of the fact that these feeders are specially made for smaller birds. The blue jays and doves feed from the ground, but these clever birds somehow juggle themselves onto the feeder, spilling seed on the ground for all to feast.

I hate to say it, but so far the grackles are winning, and when their babies arrive, our yard will be teeming with these annoying pests. Looking at the positive, I do appreciate their consumption of the more destructive grasshoppers.

For now I am saying goodbye to my colorful regulars. I will offer them feed again when these menacing meddlers depart for the season.

Welcoming Bees

In March the last of our bees died. It was a painful time. When you tend to your first batch and they make it through the winter and then disappear, it leaves a void. They continued to leave the hive on sunny days and I enjoyed watching them until that day in March when there was no sound, no activity. There was only the lonesome silence.

"These things happen", we were told. "It is not unusual". Small comfort to us first time beekeepers.
Tonight we pick up another nook; that is, a box of bees with a queen. Tomorrow morning we start tending a new crop of these marvelous pollinating workers and their reigning queen. I think I will name her Hope. We can only hope for a better season of keeping bees.