Joseph R. Lange

Wisdom's Harvest-East of Smallville

In the Garden of What Could Have Been

An old man walked slowly during the quiet of the October evening. Alone and hobbled by age he shuffled along the walkway of his life.

The trees now devoid of leaves and the grayness of the evening before him.

Stopping by a garden spot now ushered to sleep by time.

No evidence of tilling. Nor care taken to grow things common to a life’s garden.

He looked upon it. Remnants of what was. Like many gardens perceptible of what was known only to the gardener. He knew. Of what was once vibrant and now just the remains of the harvest.

His eyes watered, like old men’s eyes water. The cold breezes of autumn on his face perhaps, only he knew why the water came to them.

That spot over in the corner. Barren ground. Unworked and wasted. He had forsaken children in his life. No time for that. Much too busy pursuing fortune. The work of his life was attention to business at hand. The ground would now remain untilled. Forever untilled.

Next to it more unseeded ground. Of love not embraced. Although chances to plant the seeds and let them grow where many throughout his long life, still nothing. No memories. Nor remnants of what should have been. The potential loves may have left him, and perhaps taken his riches with them. Trust was not a part of his life and without trust, love could not grow.

He had trusted no one and the result was now before his eyes.

Taking a handkerchief from his pocket he dabbed his eyes. Still more garden before him as his heavy feet moved along the garden path of his time on earth.

Family would have been planted here perhaps. Memories of children playing and anniversaries celebrated. Weddings attended and graduations. Laughter of grandchildren and the wondrous beauty of a baby’s smile. Yet the ground was hard and cold. There wasn’t time for planting. No time indeed.

Every garden has the spot for the planting of things not normally planted. Risk taking. Let’s just see if we can grow it. But the cold ground before him had no indication of this. No risks taken. Yes, a prudent life. Life needs some risks.

Perhaps the next space was for the simple flowers of life. Yes, every garden needs them. Some for spring, and some for summer. Yet some still waiting for early fall to show their beauty. Master gardeners know when to plant for the now. And for the beauty that would come later, with time.

More cold and barren ground for his life had not included things that would provide simple things that supported emotional beauty. What benefit would planting something be that was for the soul only? No, just hardened ground, like his heart.

No songbirds. Nothing of simple joy. The calm wonder of watching Butterflies land.
As is the case in gardens prepared for the winter, the anticipation of the spring. What would the warming days bring to this garden?

But in the cold and gray stillness he knew there would be no anticipation. No spring.
Opportunities that were now forever lost. He had harvested what he had sown. The Bible certainly gives warning to this. Harvesting what you have sown.

I have pondered on gardens. There is a time for everything. Time to plant things. Too soon can be disastrous. Planting too late. The same.

I have concluded that a partner in life’s garden is a worthy thing. God put Eve in the first one for a reason. I am thankful for mine.

Bank accounts provide nothing in the winter of your life. God gives you your short time on earth. Like the seasons you plant when the time is right and work to provide the things needed to assure that the seeds germinate and are taken care of.

Careers, children, grandchildren, family and friends. A balance of care for each. You try to keep the weeds out. And tenderly care for the early growth until it’s time.

The garden bench. Every life has one. We will all sit upon our garden bench and look upon what we have grown. At seasons end. Our life’s work.

The old man sat upon his and sighed. “God, for the chance to go back”, he thought. To work it. To grow things not grown ..nor nurtured.

For the chance of love. Growing old is hard. Growing old alone ..is harder.

Be careful out there.

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Wisdom's Harvest-East of Smallville

If I Could be Me

I have lived longer than many of my high school friends. I don’t know why God has let me for I certainly should not have given the adventures I have gone through. I still have my high school yearbook and the notations of departing this life is next to many of my old classmates phots. Yet I live still. Observing things being a big part of my life I have watched many people go about life.

I recall class reunions where everyone would tell of their success. I would hope that it were all true because I wanted them all to be happy. For the short period that we were all together we were all what we said we were.

Like a Halloween party only the costumes were those of success and happiness. Each going their own way soon after to either what they said they were or in an attempt to become. What they said they were.

And sadly, perhaps to what they really were.

Actors all. We are all actors to some point in our lives. People see us for what we present to them.

Being genuine is not an easy thing. I certainly understand it. My attempts in life continue to be yet, there are moments of disconnect.

I always used to think some were very happy as they “had it all”. I later learned that they didn’t have anything made. They put on the best face they could and went about their lives. No one would know the pain or the monsters they fought each day.

Sometimes I hear people comment about people being “fake”. But then I wonder if it is fake or they are just trying to keep things inside. Not wearing it on their sleeve. Not wanting the drama or the constant effort to be something that they were not. Although I certainly understand how some would say this, human frailties being what they are.

Oftentimes we are someone whom those that love us expect us to be or more importantly need us to be. We are strong for everyone yet we are weak. We present a brave warrior image yet we fear the darkness.

I have thought some to be rich and they were actually poor. They lived rich but in fact they were in debt up to their eyeballs. And the reserved were actually quite wealthy.

We all want to present our best to others. I believe the popularity of Facebook is driven by this. People can be whatever they want to be. Pain is generally hidden. Failures and honestly sometimes not shown to our growing list of “friends”.

But in the silence of the evening we all must speak to the person we are. The real person. The person no one really knows. Just us.

There is a saying about “the man in the mirror”. I recall it as only when you are alone and stare into the mirror can you see who you really are. There is something about a mirror. Not always your pal. But then a true friend will not tell you what you want to hear I guess.

I have had instances in my life where I saw the man in the mirror as someone I didn’t like too much. Being honest with ones selves is a difficult thing to do. Yet I have not given up. I think the seeing of what is reflected in the mirror in not the end. It is a moment in life and can be changed given the effort it often takes.

Emotional wellness takes as much time and effort as physical wellness.

Emotional mirrors, also do not lie when we peer into them.

Pondering many hours in the treestand helps me to focus on what I am and what I am not.

Accepting yourself as what you are inside. I believe as I have aged I have not only accepted myself for my own frailties but more importantly have accepted others.

My wife has accepted who I am and more importantly who I was once was. We continue to evolve emotionally and spiritually and strive to be a better person. I think the best blessing one can have is a life partner that can do this. To accept the now, to forgive the “was”.

I have also tried not to judge folks. Politically, economically for sure, sexually, all manner of judgmental areas where when we are different from others we look through the eyeglasses of judgement.

I understand that folks will try to judge people on a scale that somehow makes them feel better about themselves. I pondered on the hurt folks have gone through trying to be something they are not, just to please others. The futility of it.

True freedom to live the life God has given you is to understand that God does not make mistakes. And that point in time it allows you.. to be you. We certainly try to be of “good moral” character although we all fall short at times. We try to be benevolent. We try to show compassion to others.

It is normal for all of us to want to be accepted and being of a gregarious nature we want the social interaction of life. Some will become what they feel they need to become to be a part of it all.

When we are home alone we are who we really are I think. Off the stage of life and just being who we are. All of life’s makeup washed off. In our emotional swet pants. Coffee cup in hand and staring out the window. I think life would be a lot simpler if I could be me.. more when I wasn’t in the safe confines of my home.

I will work on this. Yes I believe I will work on this. Perhaps, there is still time.

Be careful out there.

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Wisdom's Harvest-East of Smallville

I think I’m Allergic to Sulfa and… Horses

1972, fresh out of high school and my buddy Al Uhlig and I headed off to Colorado to do some bowhunting with Bill Wallace Guide and Outfitters. I recall the total cost for a 7 day hunt was $250.00. Things have changed a bit in that area.

We loaded up the El Camino and headed off.

We had car problems in Crook, Colorado. We broke down on the side of a desolate road and were soon surrounded by some shady looking characters. I took out my compound bow which was just legalized in Colorado and showed them and actually shot an arrow down the road to show them the power the thing had. I believe I had a Jennings Model S at that time. They were impressed enough not to kill us and actually seemed to enjoy our company. We got the hell out of there as soon as we could however.

On arrival to the base camp we soon were on horseback and headed out to hunt. I had a mean looking giant black horse and from the get go I knew he didn’t like me. He proved it that afternoon as when I was riding back to camp and about a mile away he decided that he had enough of me and bucked me off.

Hanging onto a horse rein with one hand and a compound bow in my left with 0 hours of flight time on a horse, well…he didn’t have much trouble getting rid of me.

It was a long walk back in the darkness and I was happy to see the campfire glowing in the distance. The guide couldn’t figure out why the giant black horse did that and said he would ride it and see if it had a problem. I remember it was about three days later when we were all taking a break and almost ready to dis-mount when that horse went nuts and tried to buck the guide off. No luck with getting rid of the guide. Apparently he had more time in the saddle than I had but it was quite the sight watching him ride that bronco.

The next day I was hunting and got thirsty. Really thirsty. Boy that little stream looked nice and clear and cold. Doing my best impression of Grizzly Adams I stooped down and drank a bunch. God, that was great. I was refreshed and feeling as close to being a mountain man that early in my life as I ever had.

Until… later that night. Apparently there is something about drinking water downstream from a beaver dam. Who knew? My guts were killing me but fortunately there was a doctor hunting in camp and he gave me some “Sulfa”. He said it should help with the crap growing down in my guts from the water.

About three in the morning I knew I had better step outside the tent. I didn’t get three feet and bent over in pain I knew she was about to blow. Only seconds to spare and the underwear were at the ankles. Ka-Boom!!

Sweet Jesus Lord! I couldn’t believe a man could actually hit the side of the tent from three feet away! The smell of sulfur in the air hadn’t been that strong since Gettysburg I swear to God.

Staggering back to bed I waited for the dawn.

The doctor asked me how I felt when I got up and pointing to the side of the tent he stated the fact that, “You must be allergic to Sulfa”.

Ya think?

The day was a long one. Every hour or so I had to get off my new horse, which was like a 100 year old gray mare, and deposit on the Colorado mountainside. While doing so on one occasion I had a nice little fork Mule deer buck come bounding past me about 30 yards. I however, was pre-occupied.

I finally recovered by weeks end and had the opportunity to try elk hunting which the guide would call in. I remember emptying my quiver at one.

You would think after hitting like twenty yards in front that you would realize that elk are a bit bigger than deer and raise your damn aim a bit. But no.

Funny how things stick with you. Whenever I go to the clinic now for a checkup and they ask, “Any allergies?” I usually reply, “God, do I have one”.

They generally don’t have a lot of time to hear my story and when they do they cut me off at the point where I am exiting the tent. I just figure they must be very busy.

I took Helen and Krissy to Wisconsin Dells 17 years later and took them on a horseback ride through the little canyons they have there. I recall asking for a slow old horse.

Those horses were trained to stop every time you dropped the reins. Krissy dropped hers like 10 times and every time the guide had to come back and get off her horse and hand her the reins again. God I just smiled at her.

Apparently she inherited her horseman’s ship skills from her father.

Be careful out there.