Thursday, June 30, 2011

To Trust

“Betrayal is the only truth that sticks.” -- Arthur Miller

I was contemplating betrayal the other day. It seems to be a consistent presence in our lives. It carries about no discernable pattern to its form. People betray other people, regardless of whether or not they love them. Friends betray friends for all sorts of reasons. Our government betrays our trust for many reasons. We betray our instincts and march headlong into disastrous situations, situations that cost momentous amounts of money and loss of human life and tragic suffering.

What is truly lost through betrayals is trust. Who, what, why are all questionable factors now in putting that one foot in front of the next.

Maybe that is one of the reasons that so many people get such gratifying satisfaction from their pets. They can trust them without the possibility of betrayal. Though even after 13 years I still don’t trust the cat. I still often start blindly down the basement stairs only to almost step on it--lazily stretched out on the steps-- and almost take a possible life-threatening tumble. I believe she has been plotting my demise for a long time. The cat is eerily colored to blend in with the carpet. I am sure my wife didn’t consider that when she picked out the pattern. But I always trusted my dogs.

So I ask myself to keep taking the risk of continuing seeking trust.

It is too energy draining to look behind every act, word and supposition to look for the possible betrayal that may or may not lurk there about.

Friday, June 17, 2011

Dad

“My father considered a walk among the mountains as the equivalent of churchgoing.” --Aldous Huxley
My dad was not one you would find sitting still very often. In fact, the first time I remember him truly motionless for any length of time was when his back gave out, a victim of his strength not meeting the demands of the task. It must have been a huge task that did him in, as I remember the lean, tremendous physical strength that he possessed.

That strength--at least in part--came from his love of the outdoors and all that it involved. And working a day job pushed him to find things to do that were evening or nighttime activities.

When he hunted raccoons with dogs, it was a physical act. You waded through swamps. He traveled through pitch-black woods guided only by the sounds of the dogs. He lugged 30-pound animals out of the woods back through those same swamps and dark woods dragging a couple hounds as well. Then at the end of the night with dawn approaching, he skinned, stretched hides and maybe grabbed a couple hours sleep before it was time to get up and work the auto mechanic job that was his profession.

Or he spent his evenings floating rivers, spearing or pole-fishing for catfish, carp or gar. Hauling the flat-bottom boat and equipment from beds of pick-up trucks or off the roof of a family’s car to launch and reversing the process at the end of the float fishing excursion.

Trapping was another sport he squeezed into his evenings and mornings scheduled around work. Traps would be set and checked and the harvested animals prepared for the fur market. He hauled a basket of steel traps and the trapped animals, down edges of creeks, around lakes in his waders and edges of forests and field, breathing in the life of the active outdoorsman.

Most of the time when I woke in the morning, the only proof of my Dad’s existence was what he had harvested during the time he was away. Animals and fish mysteriously deposited for processing or the families consumption.

I remember my first pheasant hunting trip with my Dad. I was 12. We went all day and we went at his pace. I knew that was expected and it was also what I expected of myself. At the end of that day, I could barely finish walking out of the fields. My gun felt like I was carrying a military field piece of huge caliber. I honestly had never been more exhausted in my entire life. I also knew that what I had experienced was a beautiful look inside the mystery that was inside of my father. For probably the first time, I shared an exact experience on his terms of what it was that he did when he was doing.

He was evangelizing me--challenging me--to experience living the outdoor life from his view of life. And I was saved.