Piercing the Storm

A woman, a goat and a wheelbarrow.

Piercing the Storm

The winding road toward Soldier Canyon in Stockton, where it meets Alex Baker Memorial Park, delivers a magnificent valley and mountain view, in almost every direction.  And, on this July day, it was magnificent as well as a little terrifying.  In just moments, the sight shifted from the beauty of cloud-filtered-sunshine to dark, ominous clouds, punctuated by strobing streaks of lightening, gusting wind and driving rain.  It was enough to coax even the hardiest toward shelter.

Thank goodness for the safety and comfort of a car!  Rain pelted the windows.  Vibrations from the blustering wind rocked the car and the once, seemingly endless vista shrank in dramatic fashion.  All these signs suggested a retreat.

In this case retreat meant a departure from the exposed area and a drive back down the hill toward Utah Highway 36 through a quaint rural neighborhood.  A neighborhood with homes often sidled alongside barns and corrals dotted with horses, cows and goats.  On this squall enhanced drive, through blowing rain, most resident animals were scarce, as they hid within the protection offered them.  It was seemingly the common choice during this storm.  Yet, it was not the choice for all.

Just ahead on the left was a woman, a goat and a wheelbarrow headed toward making the consensus decision.  She, the woman, held the handles of the wheelbarrow, one in each hand.  She walked forward, pulling the trolley, filled with hay, behind her.  This part of the sight didn’t bring a smile to my face, as it was not unusual.  But, a smile was about to spread across my face, as soon as my eyes drifted a little more to the left.

I saw two legs, covered in hair and tipped with hooves, supposedly positioned to push the wheelbarrow forward, as if helping the woman.  I had to look a little harder through the rain covered window when I was the sight!  Further inspection revealed the head, neck and front legs, of the goat, firmly inside the wheelbarrow, as the hind legs propelled the yearning creature onward, toward the transient food.

“Sometimes dinner can’t wait!”  I laughed to myself as I continued my drive.

The winding road away from Soldier Canyon in Stockton, where it meets Alex Baker Memorial Park, delivered more than a magnificent valley and mountain view, in almost every direction.  On this July day, it was magnificent, a little terrifying, and quite humorous.  In just moments, the sight shifted from the beauty of cloud filtered sunshine to dark, ominous clouds, punctuated by strobing streaks of lightening, gusting wind, driving rain, a woman, a goat and a wheelbarrow. 

It was enough to coax even the hardiest toward laughter.  And, it was enough to make me realize that even when storm clouds threaten and the world seems to be in complete commotion, we can all receive a retreat of joy, delivered from a simple, unexpected source.

An Un-inked Ledger

“There ought to be a way for us to tell those that had a huge impact on our lives how grateful we are to them.” – Randy Favero

An Un-inked Ledger

“He was one-hundred-three and nine months old,” Randy said, during a conversation just after the passing of his father.  “He had decided he wanted to make it to one-hundred-four.  Then, one day he told me that he’d had enough.”

Jim Favero was a fixture in the County Hills area of Ogden.  He had many facets.  One of the things he was best known for was his shoe store in Downtown Ogden, Favero’s Shoes.  Through the nineteen-sixties people in Ogden flocked there to get their shoes because of Jim.  Perhaps his customers could have purchased their shoes at other locations, including two large department stores present in the area then, but they went to Favero’s because of their relationship with Jim and his family.

He raised his family in the greater Ogden community.  They were active in people’s lives, doing good where ever they saw a need.  They had seemingly endless talent and hearts that spread love abundantly across town.  So much so, that there is no way one could ever complete a full ledger detailing all of the lives Jim and his family touched.  This one phone call to Randy Favero, was a gesture aimed at completing one small, albeit important, line in such an un-inked ledger.  It was a call of thanks and acknowledgement of a life well-lived life.

The ensuing conversation brought to mind a thought that, perhaps we, those continuing to swim in the time-bound now, too often miss the opportunity to speak words of thanks to those who have had immeasurable positive impact on our lives, before the sound of time’s ticking fades from the ears of our heroes.  And, one attempt to remedy this omission illustrates its rarity.

“Are you alright?  Are you putting your affairs in order?” Were the questions of immediate import from Jack and Maxine Young, two of Jim Favero’s contemporary big-hearted and love spreading fellow-heroes during such a purposed call.

A response of, “No, everything is just fine, I just wanted you to know.” Elicited laughter from both telephones engaged in the conversation.

Through two very different telephones, at a much different time, Randy echoed that laughter as a result of this shared story.  “There ought to be a way for us to tell those that had a huge impact on our lives how grateful we are to them.” He said.

“He was one-hundred-three and nine months old,” Randy also said, during a conversation just after the passing of his father.  “He had decided he wanted to make it to one-hundred-four.”

If you and I wait until we’re in our one-hundred-fourth year, almost one-hundred-three and nine months old, to give personal thanks to the most impactful souls in our lives, those who have helped us to become better, more loving people, while the ticking of the clock still sounds in warm ears, our un-inked ledger will never be filled!

Can you hear the ticking of a clock?

Random Good

Bovine Escapees

Random Good

A head first appeared through the slats.  Then a neck, followed by shoulders and front legs.  It was difficult to tell exactly what was happening in the beginning of it all.  Yet, the long sightline of white parallel vinyl slats, punctuated by vertical posts served to highlight that protruding head.  It was all right in a perfect line until that first head popped through.

The head was followed by the whole body.  And, in no time at all, more heads, shoulders, legs, tummies and tails walked through the now wide gap in the fence.  The whole heard of cows was on the move!  At first, they milled around the west side of the road eating the abundant plant life there.  As their numbers grew, the area outside the fence, where they roamed grew as well.

Of course, it was a calf who ventured to the road first.  She was curious.  You see, Hairy Pupper and I had walked up to the marauding herd.  The calf wanted to check us out, just as much as we wanted to check her out. And, check her back into the field where she belonged too!

We tried to coax the herd back through the gap in the fence.  But, It was just too much for one person and one small pup to do alone.  It seemed as if all we were accomplishing was to scatter the cows wider.  We needed help, but it was morning’s dawn, about 6:30 in the day’s early light!

I looked just past the end of the white grid, through the light’s inception, to see Tevita Tilini walking toward us and the disbursing herd.  Then, I looked to the north to see Maryann Tillery walking out of her driveway.  Soon, there were six humans and one little dog amassed and working together in an effort to corral the cows until “he” came.

His shoulders were huge, seemingly as wide as he was tall!  And, like all bulls, he walked with an air of confidence and command.  So much so that when he decided to break through our porous line, in a fierce trot toward the Oquirrah Mountains, his leadership was confirmed causing Tevita and I give chase through one field, right up to its eastern fence.  That’s where he turned north to walk right through an electric fence surrounding a herd of sheep.

The sheep scattered, as sheep do, and flocked together in a panicked run toward safety.  The bull ran in the opposite direction until he came to another side of the electric fence.  He’d learned his lesson when he crossed the electrified fence the first time, so he slowed, hesitated and hopped over the wires carefully so he could join the rest of his herd, his circle complete. 

Our human half circle was once again established and we slowly urged the herd through the gap in their home fence. 

A head first appeared through the gap.  Then a neck, followed by shoulders and front legs.  It was difficult to tell exactly what was happening in the beginning of it all.  Yet, the long sightline of white parallel vinyl slats, punctuated by vertical posts served to highlight that protruding head.  It was all in a perfect line until that first head popped through.

The head was followed by the whole body.  And, in no time at all, more heads, shoulders, legs, tummies and tails walked through the now wide gap in the fence.  The whole heard of cows was on the move!  At first, they milled around on the inside edge of their home field eating the abundant plant life there.  As their numbers grew, the area inside the fence, where they roamed grew as well.

We slid the fence slats back into place, talked for a few minutes and expressed gratitude for each other’s willingness to come to help.  It was a random group, doing one small, random act of good, just to help a neighbor in need. 

Participate in random acts of good!

The Snowball Incident

“Just ask him what I do to people who cross me!” – Jane Ann Henry

The Snow Ball Incident

It seemed strange to be talking about snow balls in July.  Yet, Jane Ann’s story was not really about a snowball at all.  It wasn’t about justice.  It wasn’t even about revenge.  It was about relationships.  Or, more accurately it was about relationship awareness.

“Just ask him what I do to people who cross me!”  Jane Ann said to the group of teenagers sitting in the Bureau of Reclamation Truck as they headed deeper into the Uinta Mountain’s Ashley National Forest, to work.

They were all participating in the Youth Conservation Corps for the summer.  That meant living together in long army surplus tents.  Boys in one tent and girls in another, where each person slept on a single cot-like-bed and had a confidentiality trunk sitting at the bed’s foot to store private, personal belongings.  They did and experienced everything together.

They ate their morning and evening meals in a huge “mess-tent” prepared by a camp chef.  And, each evening, members of the Corps would morph into faux sous chefs, under his direction, to prepare a sack lunch for each person to take, as their lunch, the next day.  Such was life, as a member of the camp, for an entire summer.

On this summer day, while bouncing along a rustic dirt road to complete a “slash” assignment at a recent logging site, Jane Ann Henry talked with her coworkers about what she had learned from her almost life-long relationship with “A-Boy-Next-Door.”

“We, and our families, were really good friends.”  She explained.  “Then, on a snowy winter’s day A-Boy-Next-Door threw a snowball at me and I was incensed!  So, I decided to teach him a lesson he would soon not forget.  I ignored him and didn’t speak with him for many years, so as to make him feel my pain a hundredfold.”

The truck bounced through the mud puddles deeper into the forest as she spoke to her truck-bound mates.  Then, the trees abruptly vanished to reveal branches strewn almost as far as the eye could see, in a newly created clearing where their ride stopped.  The boys and girls climbed out of the truck and began their work of gathering the branches and placing them into large piles, away from the surrounding, still-standing trees.  So, when the first snow came at the change of season, other rangers would come back to the site and burn the piles, clearing the ground for new trees to be planted the following spring.

“I guess my relationship approach when I was younger was a lot like what we’re doing here today.”  Jane Ann continue as she and her companions of the day carried branches to the burn piles.  “Slash and burn!”

She continued working, sharing and confiding.  “Then, many years later, I was put in a position where I was sort of required to work alongside That-Boy-Next-Door.  That’s when he asked, ‘Why have you been mad at me for all these years?’”

She emphatically threw a large branch on a pile, turned and said, “I was quite speechless!  He honestly had no idea what he had done; why I was punishing him!  That’s when I understood the value of the work we’re doing here at the logging slash site.”

It seemed strange to be talking about snow balls in July.  Yet, Jane Ann Henry’s story was not really about a snowball at all.  It wasn’t about justice.  It wasn’t even about revenge.  It was about relationships.  Or, more accurately it was about relationship awareness.

“Often times, we’re angry with our neighbor for some insignificant slight and they don’t even know why!  They honestly don’t know what they did!  When I came to understand this, I realized that when I had slashed and burned a relationship, I needed to take that next, spring, step.  I needed to plant and nurture new “relationship trees” in our shared forest so over time, our relationship would fully flourish again!”

Hell's Revenge

“We’re going on a Dino hunt!” – Landon Johnson

Hell’s Revenge

There are some places that are magical just on their own. One wouldn’t think it would be possible to make such places even more enchanted.  Just ask Mike Ballard, United States Marine Veteran and owner of Big Iron Tours in Moab, Utah.

Mike, who was born and raised in Moab, says, “I always had a strong desire to serve in the military.”  So, shortly after graduating from high school, he enlisted in the Marines and served two deployments. After separating from the Marines, he studied aviation and worked for a number of years as a helicopter pilot. But, he had a wife and three kids at home. Mike soon came to realize that his helicopter life wasn’t healthy for his family.  So, after months of discussion, Mike and Regan, his wife, decided it was time to take their family home to Moab.  Because as much as Mike loved working as a helicopter pilot, he wanted to give his kids the same magical childhood he enjoyed, roaming some of the most imaginative landscapes our world has to offer.  And, perhaps his childhood hasn’t really ended.

When four-year-old Landon Johnson climbed into Mike’s sandstone cliff crawling Jeep with his mother Kilee, his voice boomed, “We’re going on a Dino hunt!”  To which Mike called back enthusiastically, “We sure are!”  Then they drove off toward Hell’s Revenge slick-rock trail on their amazing adventure.

When they came upon the initial climb up the thrilling spine of the trail’s entrance, Landon looked out through the windows of the Jeep and called out, “We’re driving on the spine of a huge dragon!” It was a fitting conclusion for a boy, who lives his live imaginatively; as the view from atop the thin rail of sandstone was long and narrow, with a sheer cliff drop on each side.  It is enough to cause many, rational thinking humans, to grip the Jeep’s hand-holds in a different sheer.  Sheer terror!

But, Landon is a boy who saw much more than life changing, magnificent scenery, while traversing Hell’s Revenge. When he saw real Dinosaur footprints memorialized in the rock, his face lit up brighter than the late afternoon sun, that was seemingly baking his expanding imagination, like a cake rising in a pastry chef’s oven.  He began to encyclopedically recite the names of many dinosaurs and asked Mike to find their exact footprints in the stone.

“My work is like living on vacation.”  Mike said to Landon toward the end of their time together.

Yet, this adventure revealed much more. Yes, there are some places that are magical just on their own. And one wouldn’t think it would be possible to make such places even more enchanted.  Yet, on this day, a two hour tour with Landon, a four-year-old who lives his life imaginatively allowed Mike Ballard to see that even the magnificent is somehow transformed into something even more special through the magic of imagination.

Daily Miracles

“Daily Miracles are there for each one of us to savor and enjoy if we will simply notice, stop and become a witness.  They transform plain-old-life into a kaleidoscope of wonder and splendor.” - Kilee Johnson

Daily Miracles

“I was trying to finish tying up the last two tomato plants in my garden.  The late evening was already getting dark enough that Garrison was holding a flashlight so I could see.”

Of course, Kilee Johnson, a self-described ‘workaholic” had worked well over a full day in her management position at the Sam’s Club corporate headquarters. This late spring evening was her time to be with her family and pour new energy into her soul by tending to her amazing vegetable garden.  As with all things she focuses on, her attention was singular; finish this one more task.  She was racing to get to the end of the same imaginary daily finish line it seems as if so many of us are driven toward.  Garrison, her husband, was seeing something completely different, during the same time and in the same place.

While holding the flashlight to illuminate the twine and vines, he took a moment to look east, over their backyard fence, toward an expansive view of taller green grass being sporadically illuminated.  It was their evening-twinkling-season.

The evening-twinkling-season in Arkansas is the time of year when the fireflies come out to brighten our planet with their bioluminescence.  As darkness begins its daily creep, overrunning the sunlight, these amazing insects begin to shine; one here and one there, often by the hundreds.  It is a delightful spectacle!

“Stop and come look at this!”  Garrison said as he abandoned his flashlight duties to gaze over their backyard fence to take in the evening sparkle.

“Do I need to come right now?  Can’t I finish stringing these two plants first?  They’re the only two I have left to complete!” Kilee begged.

“Come now!”  He replied, somehow knowing that what he was experiencing would change everything about the day to each of the witnesses.

She came!  Both of them stood, wide-eyed watching bright dashes of illumination dancing above and through silhouettes of bladed grass.  It was a moment to cherish that Kilee would have missed without Garrison’s insightful insistence.

“I was trying to finish tying up the last two tomato plants in my garden.  The late evening was already getting so dark that Garrison was holding a flashlight so I could see. I don’t know why I don’t take the time to see the daily miracles around me!”   Kilee said as she narrated her experience, while looking out across the magnificence of the sun setting over the Great Salt Lake during a visit to Utah. “Daily Miracles are there for each one of us to savor and enjoy if we will simply notice, stop and become a witness.  They transform plain-old-life into a kaleidoscope of wonder and splendor.”

Getting Back on That Horse!

“His eyes opened and said, ‘Get me back on that horse!’. – Donetta Anderson

Getting Back on That Horse!

“My uncle is eighty-years old and he is still the toughest guy I know!”  Donetta Anderson vivaciously said.

Then, she went on to paint a vivid picture of this classic cowboy relative, still living and working on his ranch in Idaho.

“One day he was rounding up a big bull while partnering with his trusted horse.  When, all of a sudden, the bit broke, causing an abrupt change of pressure in the horse’s mouth!  This caused the horse to rear, throwing my uncle to the ground, where he lost his hat and hit his head.”

His twelve-year-old grandson, who was working with his beloved grandfather, walked apprehensively toward his grandpa’s seemingly-lifeless body.  Being of a young age and with limited experience he was unsure of what to do.

“Grandpa?”  He whispered hoarsely, with fear and expectation.

Seconds later, Grandpa’s eyes popped open and the old cowboy said, “Get me back on that horse!”

Donetta’s eyes brightened before she said, “They don’t make men like that anymore!”

And, Oh!  Grandpa told his grandson to simply take him home so he could rest after they got the pull put safely in the corral.

Upon returning to his own home, the boy told his dad what had happened and how he was worried whether he had done the right thing by leaving the old cowboy alone.  That’s when the boy’s father went to Grandpa’s house, the home where he grew up, to check on him.

“I’m just going to hole-up here until I heal!”  Grandpa said.

His son, of course, took him to the hospital where he was diagnosed with broken ribs and a concussion.  And, in caring fashion, the son took his aged father home so he and his family could care for him until he was well and strong again.

“Sometimes we forget how strong our familial stock was and is!”  Donetta said with a smile.

We all come from such good and tough ancestry! Yet, it’s easy for us to forget about the well-earned magnificence of the tough people that birthed us, as we struggle to navigate the challenges that naturally occur while going about our lives.  At times, it may feel as if we’re going through things that no others have ever struggled through.  So, the real-life tale of an iconic old cowboy, a tough old bird, is just what we need to be reminded that such a person is more than a representation of the old west.  He is a living symbol of whence we came and the strength we have deep within our souls.

“My uncle is eighty-years old and he is still the toughest guy I know!”  Donetta vivaciously said.

And, by the way, sometimes all of us, no matter how tough, can enjoy the loving, caring and compassionate grace of those dear to us, so we can “get back on that horse” after we’ve been knocked down to the ground!