Can the wisdom of a lifetime be shared?

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I was out buying tomato plants for the garden the other day and it brought back memories of my thirteenth Summer. I was in Boy Scouts and took on a project to teach crafts at Ashton Woods Convalescent Center a few miles from my home. I remember being excited to get to teach leatherwork and other crafts to the residents. While a few took part, I remember after a while my interest turned from teaching to learning.

Many of my free hours at the center were spent helping Mr. Farnell with the community vegetable garden. He was confined to his wheelchair, but with his knowledge and my arms, we raised an outstanding garden that year. I don’t think I’ve ever been that successful with tomatoes, peppers, squash and the like. That Summer he shared with me many stories of his life, his work with A&P grocery. But largely he taught me how to appreciate the beauty of life. The joy of helping God make something grow.

Many of the gardening techniques he shared with me are still with me today.

Many of the residents made a lasting impression on me that year.

Mrs. McMahan was a simple joy to be around. She was the type of person who could just make you smile when she walked in the room. In spite of her battles with bad health, her outlook was always uplifting. From her I learned that even the worst day can be faced with a smile.

Mr. And Mrs. Boxley both lived in the center. To me they seemed like a wonderful couple. They both had a spirit to enjoy life. They took each moment and did all they could with it. They both shared a passion for bird watching. They shared it with me. I still have a bird book Mrs. Boxley gave to me after Mr. Boxley passed away. Yesterday I saw a most unique bird with blue back and crimson front. There’s not a day that I see a bird I’ve never seen before they those two don’t cross my mind.

Mrs. Petit was one of the first severe stroke patients with which I spent time. She had lost the use of one side of her body and spoke only with great effort. I learned the importance of perseverance from her. No matter what craft project we undertook, she made every effort to do her part.

There were dozens of patients that Summer who I met and who became a part of my childhood. Many shared with me bits and pieces of their knowledge, their wisdom. Many were glad to share the company of a young person who was sincerely interested in them.

A boy scout project brought me there, but it was the people who kept me coming back for years to come. Eventually the folks I had grown close to were all called home. I often wish we could visit today, talk about where I’ve been and how they played a part in making me who I am today. I guess they are with me, even though I cannot speak with them. They speak to me in memories, in the things they taught me. When I’m digging in the garden to plant the tomatoes, I can still envision Mr. Farnell sitting next to me saying “Dig a little deeper son, those roots need room to grow.”

I often wonder what wisdom I will leave on this earth once I’m gone. Who will remember the things that were important to me? Will I leave a legacy of Wisdom? I hope so, because within me, there are so many people who I would like to see live on in what I share.

If you have never took the time to visit with older members of your family, church, community. I encourage you to spend some time with them. Listen to their stories, even though you think you may have heard them a thousand times. When they are gone, you will struggle to bring those moments back in your mind. You may even wish you had written the wisdom they shared down.

Often times with the people that we see the most, we neglect to cherish the times and wisdom they are sharing.

Wisdom can be shared. It can be passed from one to another, if only we are open to learning. Sometimes, only with age the wisdom of what has been shared with us will become apparent. But it is never too early to start accumulating shared wisdom. Someday it will come in handy.

Communication is the key to life

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Communication – the exchange of thoughts, messages, or information, as by speech, signals, writing, or behavior.
Most of us begin this process from the first time we point at something to indicate we want it. After we slowly master “Mama” and “Dada,” we eventually grow our vocabulary and with the right training we become equipped for life.

Over time we gain experience and add to the tools that help us establish the ability to in some cases to communicate clearly with a minimal amount of effort.

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What happened to people of character?

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When I was a child, my parents instilled in me a lengthy list of expected behaviors for a man in training.
Behaviors such as stand when shaking a man’s hand and look him in the eyes, a woman’s hand is taken not shaken, a promise made is a promise kept, speak truth and dispel lies of others, secrets are meant to be kept; and stand against a bully and protect those they seek to harm. These are just a few of years of lessons intertwined in my raising to adulthood.
I was also a devotee of the Arthurian legends and codes of honor adhered by early knights and heroes who were inspired by those stories. Ultimately, I discovered many of my ancestors were among those inspirees.
In addition, a great influence were the films and television shows of the 1940s-1960s which taught us lessons and provided models in life to inspire us to be more than we are such as “The Andy Griffith Show,” “Ozzie and Harriet,” “The Rifleman,” and so many more.
With each passing year, I look out upon those who find their way into our view, so-called celebrities, politicians, athletes and so many whom this world now places upon some kind of pedestal. I have to shake my head as I see images, films and tv shows, hear comments they say, see actions they do, and wonder what has become of the men and women who once inspired us, who led us to greater heights in life and various fields of endeavor.
I know there are many good and decent people who live their lives and make a difference in their communities. I have met many. As a journalist, I have tried to tell their stories. Unfortunately, those are not the people who our culture uplifts onto pedestals.
I long for the days of heroes who strived to lives of character. No matter what the reality, the public face was kept appropriate so not to destroy how the public perceived who they were.
We have actors, singers, and social media celebrities who wallow in excessive behavior that reflects an inability to understand right from wrong, indulgence in sin, and existing in pettiness.
I have seen elected officials whose deeds are not honorable, words are not true, who are accoladed in their efforts as their actions hurt those they serve.
I do not know what the answer is, except, the future of character is within our hands. We have the ability to make ourselves better in how we carry ourselves and interact with other people. We can raise the next generation with better role models and stronger life influencing guidance that uplifts others rather than tearing down. We can turn off the movies and television shows that degrade the quality of our lives and not support the advertisers which make those possible.
Any who feel they are among those whose character reflects all things good and inspiring, should place themselves in situations so others can see their lives and be inspired. Run for political office; become involved in major activities and events in your community; take on a community problem and solve it; and mentor youth and adults in talents where you excel.
Modern culture is only our friend if it reflects our expectations of what life should be. Shape it, don’t let it shape you and yours.

Barefoot freedom

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One of my favorite feelings as a kid was achieved by walking barefooted through the cool grass in the early morning.
I think for most of my childhood, shoes were simply an accessory wore when you went to town. Otherwise, there was nothing covering the bottoms or the tops of my feet. The bottoms were always a little tender as the transition from cold weather shoes happened but once the soles of the feet were hardened a bit, the only thing that became problematic was crossing blacktop in the heat of the day. You would cross the road like a duck on a bed of tacks exclaiming “Ow, Ow, Ow” for however many steps it took to get through. Then you would stand in the grass until the burn lightened up.
Despite this minor inconvenience, walking barefooted would carry us everywhere we went from neighbors’ homes, on bike rides, to the pool, to the local store, to the creek and the woods and everywhere in between.
Maybe once or twice a week, my mom would call me in from play saying we were going to town and then I would have to remember the last place I put my shoes, take out a fresh shirt and get ready for an afternoon of “lookin’ and feelin’.” This usually meant a little fun along the way, maybe an ice cream sundae from Woolworth’s lunch counter or maybe even an afternoon movie matinee.
If I was lucky enough to have a friend along, to my mother’s chagrin, it could mean a game of hide and seek around the clothing department as she and one of her friends looked through the racks. The games would be short lived as soon as my mother noticed with a promise of discipline if we did not settle down. In most cases we did. However, there were a few times which pushed the envelope and developed a hand-shaped red tattoo on my posterior.
No matter the experience, I cherish those memories of the days when bare feet strengthened my understanding of the world. Each step toughened my soul and took me to so many adventures which fueled my imagination and gave me hope that another adventure was always just a few steps away.
If you are far away from these days, why don’t you take your shoes off in the morning and walk across your back yard in the cool of the morning, or drive to a nearby creek and stick you bare feet in the water as it rushes by. Find that barefooted hopeful youth who once fueled your dreams to uplift your spirit.

The honeysuckle pull

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The sweet smell of honeysuckle lightly drifted over the back porch steps as I sit at the top of a thirty-step descent to the ground below. At three-years-old this was a surmountable achievement to navigate these without tumbling to the bottom. And in reality my mother was always watchfully standing by looking through the porch door as she ironed to make sure I did not rush beyond my abilities and go scampering down the steps.

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Recognizing Sacrifice

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“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends,”
the book of John tells us.  There are many professions that include in their description the possibility that their duties might place the person in harm’s way while serving others. Some we see regularly are police and firefighters. I have known police officers who have died in the line of duty and firefighters injured. We as a nation saw hundreds who were impacted 20 years ago in New York following the attack on 9/11.
This week in my hometown of Ringgold, Ga. we shared the unique opportunity to welcome home the remains of one of our hometown heroes from 71 years ago in Korea – Cpl. Henry Lewis Helms. Cpl. Helms and his family farmed south of the rural Georgia town when he volunteered for service during WWII. He would return to the service again in the late forties landing in Korea and in December 1950 he was reported by telegram to his folks that he was Missing in Action.
Family members remembered how his story and photos remained part of their lives as their late grandmother continued to wonder what became of her son. She would never learn his fate, but her daughter Evelyn Snyder of Ringgold, who was seven when he went missing was able to receive closure on her behalf, now as the survivor among her siblings.
Helms was a member of Company D, 1st Battalion, 32nd Infantry Regiment, 7th Infantry Division. He was reported missing in action on Dec. 2, 1950, when his unit was attacked by enemy forces near the Chosin Reservoir, North Korea. Following the battle, his remains could not be recovered.
On July 27, 2018, following the summit between President Donald Trump and North Korean Supreme Leader Kim Jong-un in June 2018, North Korea turned over 55 boxes, purported to contain the remains of American service members killed during the Korean War. The remains arrived at Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam, Hawaii on Aug. 1, 2018, and were subsequently accessioned into the DPAA laboratory for identification.
To identify Helms’ remains, scientists from DPAA used anthropological analysis, as well as circumstantial evidence. Additionally, scientists from the Armed Forces Medical Examiner System used mitochondrial DNA (mtDNA), Y chromosome (Y-STR), and autosomal DNA (auSTR) analysis.
Several of Helms’ relatives contributed DNA for review to the identification process.
Helms’ name is recorded on the Courts of the Missing at the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific in Honolulu, along with the others who are still missing from the Korean War. A rosette will be placed next to his name to indicate he has been accounted for. He is also included on the Catoosa County Military Heroes War Memorial.
His sister Evelyn rode to Atlanta with Wilson Funeral Home personnel to bring her brother home on his final leg of the journey and on Saturday, May 22, the city came together to support his sister, nieces and nephews and cousins as they eulogized his sacrifice with a funeral and an interment in the city’s Anderson Memorial Gardens. The chapel was full, neighbors lined the procession route as Evelyn once again sat down in the passenger seat of the antique hearse that carried him.
The town gathered around the family in the cemetery as the military saluted his service with rifle fire, taps and the ceremonial folding and presentation of the coffin flag and musically bagpipes played “Amazing Grace.”
Evelyn shared that she was overwhelmed by the outpouring of love.
The work of local officials including Catoosa County Chairman Steven Henry brought together an amazing community salute which included honors by fire, police, emergency, veterans, motorcycle groups, and scouts.
There were many elements that helped to reflect our community’s respect for this family in recognition of Cpl. Helms sacrifice given for us. Saying that I was happy to see it would be an understatement. Seventy-one years is a long time, but I am thankful that the hearts of our town never forgot what it means for one of our sons to leave to serve our country and not return. Well, now Cpl. Helms did return and we were there for him, because he was in Korea for us.

Some days you should stay in bed

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As I turned the key and the engine on the gray Murray riding mower was balking, I sort of knew it was going to be one of those days.

With a little prompting though I was off and running. Many people love to mow, although I started mowing other people’s yards at about age nine, I really am not a mowing fan. In fact I sort of take the Los Angeles film set approach, let’s kill it and paint it green.

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Want a friend?

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There are people that you meet in life sometimes become professional associates, some become friends, some become family.

As a child, I didn’t find it easy to make friends. Not because I did not try, but because I didn’t easily fit into the childhood molds and thus it took the other person to have to go beyond the norm to be a friend to me. I was more like an adult intellectually than a child, so oftentimes other kids couldn’t relate with me and would get bored. As a result, I often found myself alone and very use to those I allowed into my life falling short of my expectations and leaving me feeling friendless.

Despite that experience, I learned early in my life that we get to choose our friends and sometimes even an occasional person that we call family. The greatest challenge of choosing friends is sometimes those we choose fall short of the expectations we have built up for whatever level of friendship we place upon them.

Are they a best friend? Are they a close friend, an old friend? Are they simply in our circle of friends? Are they a friend of a friend?

Depending upon where in our friend hierarchy a person falls, what do we expect of them? A best friend is someone that you can rely upon. They are there in you low times, high times, poor times or rich times, they are simply a call away. They know your secrets; they are aware of your shortcomings and help to hold you accountable.

A close friend, comes to your aid when you call. They help you move; help you fix things when you need a hand. They may not be in your life every day, but once again they are a call away.

Sometimes old friends carry many of these same expectations. Distance and time may separate you from them but whatever level they once held remains despite the time and space that is between you. If a motivating experience brings you back together, they simply fall back into the rhythm that was previously left behind.

Last year, I took a fall, breaking my hip. This experience allowed me to see who was there giving me uplifting insights into my circle of friends. I was so blessed by all of those who reached out to me during that time and since.

What is the point of today’s meanderings? A lesson shared with me by my friend Arkansas fiddling treasure Violet Hensley, who is now 104: “If you want a friend, be a friend.”

What kind of friend are you? Are you giving all it takes to support those in your circle? Jesus shared with us to “Love our neighbor.” Neighbors are more than just the people who live next to you. It is amazing how if you are there for your neighbors, they return the favor in many cases, building your circle of friends.

What a wonderful world it would be if we all enjoyed large circles of friends!

A heart of hope and help

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I can remember going door to door as a youth collecting canned foods to place in paper bags with the blue letters marked upon the sides – Goodwill. This organization was one of the many that our family moved the young people in my circles to do work to benefit.
When parents work to instill in children the importance of giving their time and energies to help others, it provides solid stones upon which they may walk throughout their lives. I saw my parents take their last cash dollar and give it to someone who had even less than they did. I saw them both give endless hours to all types of efforts to uplift others.
Those lessons learned by watching their daily walk, changed my life and gave me a sense of hope that their generosity was the norm in the world.  I assumed there would always be those that do the same. Unfortunately, despite that hope, in the intervening time I have discovered with each passing year I see fewer and fewer that reach beyond themselves.
That does not mean however that I have become jaded in what I have seen. I still loving caring people that reach into other people’s lives with their gifts of time, talents, and when needed money. Perhaps I see more of that because, those are the people I choose to live and serve beside.
In adulthood, I have seen many generous people give to others when needs arose. I have seen people who had nothing themselves, give to those who have even less. I have seen those who appear to be well situated also give. I personally have been the benefactor of other’s generosity when I faced hard times due to an unexpected accident.
As humans, as Americans, we are the greatest we can be when we put aside any differences that others place between us and we work together to make the world around us a better place. We uplift those that have less, we strive to create opportunities for people to improve their lives, whether through education, needed treatment, or simply eliminating barriers which seem to prevent a person from succeeding.
I have no idea what may be the need in your community. But we as individuals cannot solve the problems of the world or our own country. All we can do is make a difference locally. There are millions of us who can look around and find ways to change the communities we call home. Spread the smiles of hope, look to fill the voids, band together and find ways to bring your home folks together to create a better place to live for all your neighbors.
It is only locally that we can truly serve and uplift each other. Make the world a better place by starting at home in your neighborhood, your town, your county. Once we make things better in each of those, our country, our world will not only be better, but folks from outside will be less able to divide us, because we will know our neighbors’ true hearts of hope and help.

Warsh and wear

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Today most folks don’t give a second thought if they get their clothes dirty to go and change into another outfit. Of late, I have found myself babying a electric dryer as I have been trying to get parts to keep it working, so I am a little more cautious about how many clothes I have to wash.
In the valley below the Gravelly Spur, an abundance of clothes in the closet was not something that most folks experienced.
The Wood boys, like everyone, were often faced with limited things to wear. Little Woody had long grown out of his white cotton dress that he wore in the shadow of his late mother.
The dresses provided mothers the added benefit to keep track of a child when they had to leave the room by lifting the old iron bedpost and placing it on the tail of the gown. That kept the toddlers from toddling into mischief.
By this point the young boy had graduated to two pairs of overalls and two shirts.
After working in the fields two days in a row, both pairs of his overalls and his two shirts were stained with red dirt and mud. He came to his older sister and said “I haven’t got anything to wear to school tomorrow.”
She took him into the bedroom reached into the closet, pulled out her extra dress, and laid it on the bed.
“Get that on and I’ll wash up your overalls.”
Little Woody didn’t have much choice in the matter it was either put the dress on or run around in his all together. So out of the clod covered overalls and into the gray colored dress he slipped.
So even though it was late in the day, she pulled out the washtub and the warshboard and scrubbed them overalls from rusty brown to a faded blue.
She took them out and hung them to dry on the clothesline, as one would normally do.
As the family went to sleep that night, the temperature dropped way below freezing. When the family slowly made their way out into the kitchen wiping the sleep from their eyes with the rooster’s crow, little Woody’s older sister sent one of the other boys to fetch the overalls while she cooked.
He brought them in frozen solid, straight as a board. He stands them in the corner taking a bit of delight in the feat.
Woody is standing there in her gray dress and says “What are we going to do, I can’t were those to school and I am sure not wearing this dress.”
She took the overalls and shirts and placed them on chairs by the fireplace and within just a short time the overalls and shirts had melted into something looking like the occupants had simply disappeared. She quickly ironed one of the shirts.
Woody could not wait to get out of the dress and as soon as the overalls were warm enough and before the iron had hit them, he was into one of the pairs and out of that dress.
While the experience might not have been so bad for little Woody if his older brothers did not see the whole thing as an opportunity for some good old fashion ribbing once they got to school.
When the Moss brothers asked the Wood boys what they had done the night before each mentioned some adventure they had but one of them had to say, “Woody didn’t do anything. He was afraid to come out of the house cause someone might see him wearing sister’s dress.”
Needless to say this was enough to get Little Woody’s blood to boiling and with a little more agitation its safe to say that clean pair of overalls picked up a little schoolyard dirt as the kidders found themselves on the receiving end of his frustration.
Good thing his sister washed both pairs of overalls or he’d been back in that dress all over again.
( From “A Mountain Pearl: Appalachian Reminiscing and Recipes” by Randall Franks)