A Joy to Hold & A Joy to Behold

Fred was our firstborn and brought indescribable happiness into our lives. Everything centered around him. We lived in a very small Boy Scout cabin in Merriam, Kansas. Life was sweet -
we were proud parents.

As Fred grew, he was joined by five siblings -
a sister and four brothers. They, in turn, accepted his leadership, which was good.

Fred met his wife, Sue Nielson, at Fort Hays State University. They were married after graduation & now have three grown sons. They will become grandparents this fall.

Fred is Director of Manhattan Public Library. Sue retired as Riley County High School art teacher & and now teaches art at Kansas State University.

Thank you Fred & Sue. I am proud of how you have raised your family and your contributions to society.

Reincarnation

Years ago at a time my wife Rita and I were visting my son, Bob and his wife Melissa in Mountain View, Arkansas, I heard Glenn Ohrlin, recite the following poem:

Reincarnation
"What is reincarnation? a cowboy asked his friend.
"Well, it starts," his old pal tells him, "when your life comes to an end".
They wash your neck and comb your hair and clean your fingernails.
Then they stick you in a padded box, away from life's travails.
Now the box and you goes in the hole that's been dug in the ground,
And reincarnation starts, my friend, when they plant you neath that mound.
The clods melt down, as does the box, and you who are inside,
And that's when you're beginning your transformation ride.
And in a while, the grass will grow upon that rendered mound,
Until someday a upon that spot, a lonely flower is found.
And then a horse might wander by and graze upon that flower That once was you and's now become your vegetative bower,
Well, the flower that horse done ate, along with his other feed,
Makes bone, and fat, and muscle essential to this steed.
But there's a part that he can't use and so it passes through,
And there it lies upon the ground, this thing that once was you.
And if by chance I happened by and see this on the ground,
I'll stop a while and ponder on this object I have found.
And I'll think about reincarnation, and life and death and such, And I'll go away concludin', "Heck, you ain't changed that much!"

As told by Glenn Ohrlin

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?