Getting Out

Getting Out
Saturday I went hunting wheen my brother Ken called and asked if I wanted to try hunting for a deer. Saturday, old people could hunt with a rifle for antlerless deer. I accepted. I have been much too sedentary lately. My dad Edson Carl Beck would say, “You need to get outside and get the stink blown off you.” I really needed the time away from my computer and television. I have been spendingg too much time inside.
My brother has a small mobile hunting blind. It is handbuilt on a trailer with a door on one wall and three windows on the remaining three others, allowing an unrestricted view of the terrain. An office chair on wheels make the perch comfortable and the hunter is able to scoot around inside to have access to shoot out any window when a deer should wander into view.
I’d hunted from the hunting blind before and was comfortable once I had been dropped off and settled with my rifle at my side. It was still dark outside and I loaded my gun in the dark. Once done, I sat in the darkness waiting for the sun to rise. The weather was chill. It was silent with no breeze, no bird sounds, and no movement at all.
Slowly the morning sun crept over the distant horizen to my left to cover the valley below me. The dark terrain evolved into shapes before gaining any color at all. Gradually I could see the pale vapor cloud that came out of my nose as I exhaled. Eventually birds began to stir around me wakened from their sleep and their small cheeps and peeps greeted my ears. The air was still otherwise. There was no wind, not even the sligtest puff of a breeze. As I rearranged myself in the chair, it would groan under my weight.
The sun climbed higher and the golden aspen trees began to glow in the diffuse light enhanced by a crystal robe of frost. They looked bright among some dark evergreen trees. It was a beautiful sight. Brown weed carpet and occasional thorn trees covered the field that spread from the building to disappear at the feet of the woods and I began my watch for a deer. The minutes passed into hours and nothing appeared other than the birds I was once graced by the arrival of a brilliantly fearthered cardinal. Its bright red plumage was intense against the green leaves that remained on the bush.
Empty handed I returned to my car and drove back home, but it wasn’t wasted time. It was a needed vacation from myself. 

It's Remarkable

 Remarkable

It has been fascinating to watch the skies at sunrise, sunset, and the hours in between. I have been drawn upward by the sun, clouds, moon and stars. I can be enticed even on the days when the sun refuses to shine and a vast panorama of clouds seethe and churn darkly. Occasionally the clouds are charged with twists of lightning, stirred by the deep rumbles of thunder. Sometimes the ground vibrates beneath my feet as the lightning flashes dance close causing the earth to quiver in response to the roar of thunder.

Sometimes the clouds are only a misty veil. It stirs, just thick enough to play a game of hide-n-seek with distant mountain tops. Sometimes the clouds sag low wrapping the trees and bushes with a damp blanket of fog to cover the ground with its thick blanket of cotton. When the cloud rolls away, the grass is covered with dew that sparkles as the sun or the moon rises.

The moon appears as a celestial orb, full faced and bright or as thin slices. The calendar shaves away the moon in slivers to make sickles of light. The moon evolves into the smile of a Cheshire cat or into fishhooks that snag stars in the dark night sky. Slowly stars fade as night ends and the sun begins its rise. This is where another remarkable fantasy begins. The sun’s rays pierce the darkness and dance on the passing clouds. Pale yellow light cuddles with the surface of the clouds. The light intensifies, turning the rosy glow into colors of glorious orange-gold or into a blazing hot red hue. Then the sun itself rises. It shows its brilliant face above the horizon then the clouds reclaim their virginity, white and pure.

The clouds scurry across the sky pushed by prevailing breezes. The sky’s color may vary from a pale milky hue to a deep azure blue. The wind swirls the clouds like creamer in a cup of coffee. The sun continues its journey overhead. Its path marked by shadows that the light paints on the earth beneath. Hour by hour shadows lengthen as it nears the end of the day and the time for the sun to put on its pajamas and go to sleep. The sun leaves goodbye kisses on the clouds to create fantastic scenes of light and as it settles in for the night. The sunset colors rival the morning’s sunrise, but in reverse. As the light lessens and the sun finally slips below the horizon, I sometimes think that we are looking at the underside of heaven, what will our actual view of heaven be like? It’s too grand for me to imagine.

Aging

 

The Chair

The old man sits in a chair by the door

waiting for someone who's been there before.

His skin is as thin as rice paper page,

drooping face speckled with spots of his age.

Drowsy head bobbing with white hair askew,

as light leaves the sky and lawn fills with dew

No headlights appear and shaking his head

Weary he rises and shuffles to bed

The old man sits by the door in a chair

no children or friends come visit him there.

Stirring as thoughts of them surface and rise.

With muscles twitching he opens his eyes,

through rheumy lenses and limited view

he sees youth passing, amazed how time flew.

The door remains closed, sealed tightly with rust.

The chair's now empty, filled only with dust.

 

 

The Sink Window

The old woman stands and leans on the sink,

she stares through windows to look and to think

Her steps now falter on knees filled with pain.

Wistfully her eyes stare down the long lane.

Wrinkles map her face. Age spots back her hands

wearying quickly from daily demands

No family’s seen, she turns and shakes her head,

closing the curtains she hobbles to bed.

The old woman wakes and on the sink leans,

her body is bent, face lined with ravines.

She stares at her hands, once supple and sure,

resting on the sink, misshapen and sore.

Puckered lips sag into a toothless frown.

Her youth’s flown away and her clock’s wound down.

The curtains are closed as stray breezes sigh,

The windows are dark. The sink is now dry.

 

 

The Problem

Children are caught in personal affairs

no time for one who sits alone in chairs,

no time to give them, and no time to think

of someone who waits and stands at the sink.

Busy with family everyday

not recognizing how time slips away.

Someday you will be waiting for a call,

wanting affection, no matter how small.

Quickly the children grow and leave the nest,

lifetime spouses die and are laid to rest.

Embers of hope weaken and barely glows

when no one calls and no one shows.

Traveling salesmen are greeted with glee.

The “Witnesses” invited in for tea.

It will happen much sooner than you think,

It will be you with the chair or the sink.

Masquerades

 Masquerades
There was a time as I was growing up that Halloween was little more than dressing up and taking on the persona of a scarecrow, a hobo, a princess, a cowboy, a bride, an Indian, or even a clown. I’m not talking about the scary live-in-a-storm-drain clown, but the classic ones like seen in a circus. One of the easiest costumes of all was being a ghost by using an old sheet with holes cut out for the eyes.
The decorations for Halloween were mostly dried corn stalks arranged and tied into shocks with pumpkins at its feet or maybe some old clothing stuffed with newspapers sitting in a lawn chair on the front porch. But today, the decorations have expanded to the point that many people have spent more to decorate than at Christmas. So, what’s the problem? Halloween is just another holiday, right?
Not so. it’s a celebration of the dark things in the world: a celebration of the evil things that go bump in the night; demons, skeletons, monsters, ghosts, vampires, witches, and even Satan himself. Costumes have gone from spooky to overly bloody and gory. Homes have light displays; mechanical blow up decorations, and front yards filled with Styrofoam tombstone cemeteries. Skeletons climb over cobweb covered porches to rest on rooftops. Skeleton horses pull horse-drawn coach hearses. I’ve seen plastic cat skeletons and rats for sale at Wal-Mart. I can hardly wait for skeleton dogs to join them on the shelves.
Even trick-or-treat night has a sinister past. Druid priests would go door to door to collect tribute and if the homeowner refused, the priests would refuse to bless the house and not chase away unwelcome spirits. The Celts believed that the dead returned to earth at the festival of Samhain, which is celebrated on the night of October 31st. Bonfires and sacrifices to the dead were offered. The Celts would disguise themselves in costumes of animal skins to drive away the phantom visitors. The priests would perform “blessings” in exchange for food and drink. Later people began to dress as ghosts, demons, or other malevolent beings. This custom evolved and is considered the precursor of trick-or-treating.
Too often the celebration of this season overshadows and swallows up the next holiday, Thanksgiving. The blessings of God are lost in the evils of Halloween. Our gratefulness is deferred by the rush toward the Christmas holiday. Christmas celebrates the birth of Jesus the Christ child; the Light of the world and our gratefulness at the birth of our Savior should outshine the darkness of Halloween.

Halloween Boo Boos

 Halloween Boo Boos
I was remembering several scenarios of a time when I worked in the emergency department of H. C. Frick Hospital in Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania and this one stood out. One Halloween, Dr. Vandy was on duty in the emergency room when a young man presented himself with both of his hands injured. It was one of the Flinn boys. For some reason Dr. Vandy had always called the brothers “The Flying Flinns.”
We quite frequently treated the Flinn boys for various injuries. It wasn’t that they were abused, but accidents just seemed to seek them out then find them. They looked a lot alike. They were two peas in a pod, except they weren’t green. Each man had sandy red hair and a wide scattering of freckles spread over their faces.
When we looked at the presenting Flinn boy’s hands, they were abraded, bruised, and scraped. The doctor ordered x-rays. While we were cleaning both of his hands and waiting for the x-ray tech, he began to share his tale.
“I was working at a haunted house tonight. I had huge rubber feet, rubber hands and a big, bushy wig that partially covered my face.”
We could see that the clothing he was wearing were old and tattered with red paint smeared on them to simulate blood.
“Two obviously gay guys came into the maze of the house. All of us tried our hardest to really scare them.  I could hear them coming closer down the darkened hallway. The one was saying, ‘Oh, Franzie! I’m so scared! Franzie, hold me, I’m so scared!’ and I thought, ‘Here’s where I get them.’ Just as they reached the doorway to come into my room, I slapped both of my hands on the door frame in frontt of their faces and howled as loud as I could. I heard ‘OH, FRANZIE!!’ and the guy slammed the door on my fingers. Now, I really did scream. I had a reason to yell. My hollering must have scared them, because they ran through my room and disappeared into the darkness beyond. Now I’m here to see whether or not they broke my hands.”
When the x-ray films came back, He only had a small non-displaced fracture. We dressed his wounds, splinted the finger, and sent him home. It took all we could do to keep from laughing while we were treating him. The Flinn kid was obviously in pain, but what a story he can tell his grandkids.

Barbecued Bears Balls

 Barbequed Bear Balls
I made barbecued meatballs for lunch at the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society and it reminded me of my first wild game banquet. My brother Kenneth Beck had a spare ticket and asked if I wanted to go. Just like most Saturday nights, I was free and readily accepted. I had no idea what to expect. It was all new to me. Before this, the only wild game I’d ever eaten were the animals my dad killed or venison that I killed during deer season.
The first things on the menu were trays of hors d’oeuvres of cheeses, deer sausage, homemade pickles, pickled peppers, and a variety of crackers. The next course offered were soups, regular chili, venison chili, white bean moose soup, turtle soup, squirrel & navy bean soup, or wild mushroom soup. I sampled the turtle soup and the squirrel bean soup.
The next round of foods that was shared was the main course, fresh cloverleaf buns, small buttered potatoes, and green beans. Then there were the display of meats: elk meatloaf, slices of venison roast, wild turkey, bear goulash, venison meatloaf, some type of sausage in sauerkraut, and the barbequed bear balls. The bear meat had been ground up, rolled into meat balls, and cooked in a barbeque sauce.
I didn’t try the sauerkraut and sausage and I wasn’t impressed with the bear goulash. I didn’t like the flavor of the spices that were used in it and I didn’t like the bear meat’s mushy consistency.
A large urn of coffee and several coolers of iced water and lemon Blend graced a small table at the end of the line to wet our whistles and clear palates between the different meats.
Another small table was festooned and piled high with a plethora of desserts:. Cakes of all flavors with their varied icings, small muffins of banana bread, and a few cookies. All were bundled in individual clear plastic containers. It made them easy to select and to carry back to your table.
Door prizes and other ticket prizes for T shirts, car care products, cash prizes, framed pictures, appliances, and several guns were given out to people with matching ticket numbers.
I remember sitting at my computer typing on my computer with a full round gut. At that time, I prayed that the food had settled. The foods must have called a truce, because I had a quiet night of sleep and the herds of wild game didn’t fight for territorial rights during the middle of the night.

Over the River and Through the Woods

Over the River and Through the Woods

Friday and Saturday were both fry days. I fried sausage for the annual Buckwheat, Pancake, and Sausage Festival as a volunteer to support the Ohiopyle & Stewart Volunteer Fire Department. It is their biggest fundraising event for their fire department. It’s an annual event I have worked for nearly fifty years. My father-in-law twisted my arm when I was dating his daughter Cindy Morrison. I must have passed muster, because I eventually married her. I am aging and this year, I fried sausage only on Friday with my son Andrew.

The drive from my home takes almost twenty minutes. Many of the spots along the road are filled with memories. I shared my memories with my son as we drove to Ohiopyle. Some of these places have disappeared or changed. The one that is most noticeable is the metal truss bridge that spanned the Mill Run Reservoir. It was narrow and because of the metalwork overhead, it was damaged by several taller trucks. The new span is wider and has no metalwork overhead. It is smooth and sleek, but lacks any architectural detail or history.

The drive to Ohiopyle consists of a series of hills and curves. It seems to wend its way down into Ohiopyle. The early morning drive was beautiful. Patches of fog often hid the colors of the autumn hued leaves. The fog also veiled the rising sun into a blurry spot of light giving the fog surroundings an ethereal feel. Most of the fog curled in the dips and hollows of the road like a cat curling to sleep. The wall of fog would suddenly disappear and the bright robes of the autumn leaves would appear glistening with dew in the soft sunlight. The oak and maple trees were wearing their finest coats. The poplar trees had shed most of their leaves standing tall and stately with their bared limbs raised toward the sky.

Situated close to the road is the church and school house at Bear Run Conservancy. It is near the entrance to Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater. My wife’s grandmother, Pearl Jackson Morrison lived in the school house until she died. The Conservancy has returned it to it’s original construction, removing a garage and closed in side porch.

Another notable site along the route is the church that was part of the movie, “Four Weddings and a Funeral.” The changes made by s\the state parks have robbed Ohiopyle of its sleepy little village and natural beauty, but it still stirs memories of that time.