Storytelling

This past Monday, I respresented the Storytelling group from Meadowlark. We visited Theodore Roosevelt Elementary School. I was accompanied by Pilar D'Asto and Marina Pecar from Kansas State University. My trip was to present a story that originated in Georgia. When I was a boy we had an old mule that we used on a small farm in central Georgia. The class fourth or fifth grade, and they were quite receptive to my story and the antics that accompanied it. The children gathered together around in front of me, and sat on the floor. They were very attentive and seemed to enjoy the story.

This coming Friday, at 7:00PM, in the Community Room at Meadowlark, our entire group will present their individual stories.
Stop by if you can!

A Tribute to Wyeth - Future Hero

My grandson Wyeth, wrote a tribute to me, many years ago. I ran across his essay as I was going through my pile of memories.

My Hero - by Wyeth Lee Atchison, 1996

I believe my grandad, Fred Atchison Sr., meets the criterion
of a true American hero in several different areas.
First, he is a brave man. He was part of the invasion fleet on North Africa,
during World War II. He was the drive of a boat which emptied
troops onto the beach. Next, he is resourceful, because he has
learned how to make various instruments out of wood. He made a
xylophone, a harp, a dulcimer, and a drum out of different woods.
Last, he has a strong understanding of nature. His profession was
as a forester so he knows a lot about any kind of trees found in
this part of the country. I feel that Fred Atchison Sr. is brave,
resourceful, and has a strong understanding of nature, which are
all qualities I feel make him an American hero.

Even now, I am greatly humbled and very proud to be considered his hero. I am very proud of Wyeth's accomplishments and believe that he has all of the qualities necessary to become a hero in his own right.

KU Grad - Hero by Fred Atchison Sr., 2009
Truths come & truths go
but when it comes
from your grandson
you want to believe
it's SO!
always strive to promote peace,
and become the greatest hero
I am proud of you Wyeth!

Grandad

Abou Ben Adhem

I believe that I first came across this piece, my first semester of high school. That would have been around 1938 or 1939. For some reason it stuck in my head, and a couple of weeks ago, it just poured out. My computer teacher googled it on the internet, and lo and behold, it was there!

Abou Ben Adhem

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:-
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?"-The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men."
The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

James Leigh Hunt

Looking Back

Came forty-five years ago with apprehension -- even reluctance. The first problem with identity was in trying to answer the question," What's a forester doing in western Kansas?" I finally learned that crying was not an acceptable response. I searched for Quivira, thinking that it must be just over the next hill. When I reached Elkhart, Tribune, Sharon Springs, and St. Francis and found no hill, I decided my values needed adjusting. Like the tourists hurrying to the mountains, I had accepted someone else's (not a Kansan) mistaken opinion at western Kansas is a part of the "Great American Desert". After rearranging my thinking I was able to see and appreciate the beauty of... the wind driven rain that lashes the dry prairie soil into frantic growth -- -- -- the grain elevators that sit Shepherd like tending the flocks of golden wheat heads... tumbleweeds on fences that build bridges for tomorrow into the next field. I felt the security of the blue prairie sky penned neatly along the horizon -- by grain elevators. I found the people tough in body and resolve and gentle in spirit. I found a purpose and renewal within myself. I found the fulfillment of working sharing with the people of the prairie. These 45 years have been the most rewarding of my entire career.

Prairie Spring
I am hungering after a Prairie Spring
where the wind rustle's low through
the soft golden curls of last year's grass
and air grows warm
in ancient bison wallows.

Overhead, nearly out of sight
a thousand sandhill cranes
turn great, French curves
on gleaming wings
crying their madrigal.

Townsendia would be blooming now,
hidden easter-daisy bright on limey ridges,
and fuzzy, two inch Crimson drabas
opening white, crossed flowers.

Meadowlarks warbling clear and bold
from stone post barb wire fences --
viril
fit to burst
could ease my city winter bruises.

-- -- Roberta Comstock

A Forester's Dream

A vision of lovliness, a dream to behold

a forester's secretary is more precious than gold.

His needs she anticipates, appointments does remember.

Why does she forsake him when he works among the timber?

A forester get lonely working among the trees,

His secretary's presence would put his mind at ease.

A forester has lots of notes to take--an awful bore!

A secretary in the woods could perform this chore.

Secretaries, we love you from January to December

Why do you forsake us when we work among the timber?

Basics

All things contain a "basic unit". Sometimes this embryonic component assumes physical form, and growth results in a complex structure of impressive proportions. Other times intricacy and beauty of infinitesimal smallness rewards the observer.

Basic units are sometimes ideas or beliefs whose evolution shape a spirit of love and trust among people. This intangible unit is not restricted by finiteness of matter and form, but has limitless potential for development. The human being furnished; the only medium for such expression.

Humanness may be manifest in many ways but ultimate fruition is achieved through love for fellow humans and appreciation for the natural community.

The human family can furnish environmental requirements for development of this unique intangible, and in doing so become the basic unit in a conquest for world harmony and peace.

Singleness is contrary to the laws of Nature--union of single cells produce the largest and most complex forms of life. A drop of water does not remain alone but is joined by others to ultimately form oceans. Yet singleness of purpose must be the goal of human society if order is to be restored in our chaotic world.

The evolution of family begins with the union of man and woman in bonds of mutual love and respect. Basic units are doubled, but oneness of purpose is maintained. Progeny resulting from this union further increase numbers, but oneness is synergistically strengthened.

A basic unit, the family, now exists and may be combined with all other such units to create a single world family. Proliferation of the basic unit may still be one. The basic unit? God's love!

The Mule Adventure

About a week later, mother said she was out of cornmeal and that we needed to take some "ear corn" to the mill for grinding. As the oldest, I thought I could ride the mule with the sacks of ear corn in front of me. I hadn't tried this before, so I had to work out another plan. The first step in my plan was to get on the mule's back. She was much too tall to reach without something to stand on. My brothers got the ladder for me. I wanted to climb up onto the back of the mule to straddle the mule, but I couldn't get the mule to stand still: I would start climbing up the ladder, she would start moving and I fell off several times. Finally my brothers held Pore John & got
on her back.

There was another problem, the mule's back was narrow and pointed like the roof of a house. When I sat down, boy it hurt! It hurt even worse when she started to move. Poor John ran around the barn three times with me bouncing up and down and
shouting; "WHOAH MULE STOP, STOP!" Luckily Pore John ran under a tree branch, which knocks me off her back. My mother hearing all of this commotion came out of the house and said, "Fred I think you better take the wagon!" So we hitched Pore John to the wagon, loaded the ear corn, and started toward the store and the "grist mill."

The trip was ok. We reached the mill and took the corn to the Miller. We watched as the miller ground the corn into cornmeal. I still remember the warm smell of the fresh meal. The miller would let us catch and taste some at the end of a spout, and it was so good. We picked up some food items from the store next door and headed home. On our way home, we looked for other interesting things to do, so that out rip would not be boring. Little boys do not like to be bored, so we would get off the wagon while Pore John plodded along. We would pick plums, blackberries, etc. along sides of the road. The mule noticed that there was no one on the wagon, so she headed for the barn at the house. So she took off in a little trot, and we couldn't catch her. We thought about taking a shortcut, but the way the wagon bumped along, things started falling off. We had to follow the wagon to pick up groceries. So we followed the old mule all the way home. When we got closer to home, we saw the old mule, in the front yard with the wagon wrapped around a big post in the yard, broken in half. I knew when dad got home that night I was going to have to explain all this to him.

I know that that old mule was just rolling over on the ground laughing to herself. Mother cooked good hot cornbread for supper, but I couldn't sit down to enjoy it. It took about a week for me to sit down.

The next day I decided it was time to have a serious talk with Pore John. I decided it was time to change my approach. I went out to the barn yard with apples in my pocket. I gave her an apple and said I am sorry we tickled you and got you hung up on the fence post. Lets be friends! From then on we had a good work animal and I had new friend.

Old Pore John has been gone for many years. I hope she is in "mule heaven" and I hope she has three little boys to keep her life interesting.