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.

PoreJohn

I grew up a little barefoot boy in central Georgia and lived on a very small farm. Then one day dad brought home a new mule. Do you know what a mule is? It's a creature who has a broad back, very strong long ears and stubborn. Well, I had two brothers and two sisters. My two brothers and me were a solid team and went out to meet the new mule. And she looked at us and shook her head, and I think she said, “I don't know whether I'm going to be okay on this farm.”

The first job we had with the old mule was to go down in the back pasture and cut some wood for the fireplace and the kitchen stove, which we cooked on. Everything went very well until we took out our cross cut saw and picked out the right tree and began cutting. Oh by the way, a cross cut saw, is a heavy saw with handles on both ends and you pull the saw back and forth until the tree falls.

We cut the tree into lengths that would fit on our wagons. The mule pulled the wagon very well until we reached a small stream. She crossed the stream but when the wagon rolled into the stream and she felt the extra weight she refused to go any further. Now, this presented a problem. How will we get her to move and go up the hill to the house? Now, I had heard that mule's stomach is very ticklish, so I sent one of my brothers to find a good tickle stick, which would reach and scratch the mules’ stomach. We did this, and the mule started laughing and ran out of the stream.

Rita, Rita, My Rita

This picture is of Rita on our first trip to Georgia. She met my family, and among many things that we did, we took a swim in the country club pool. I caught her in this pose. She was not too pleased about it, but it reminds me of the wonderful feelings and experiences of introducing her to my family.

Shore Leave in Algiers, North Africa 1943

We were on shore leave in Algiers, North Africa in 1943, and were sightseeing around Algiers. We ran into these three soldiers and decided that we would like to have our likeness preserved for posterity. In the picture, going from left to right, is a sailor from my ship, and 4 unknown soldiers.