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 The sun was so bright it
caught the tiny crystals of the snow refracting and reflecting diamond
looking light from them. There were sparkling colors of clear blue and
even red in tiny prisms to interest the eye of a child. The excitement and
love for the world around them was being taught in gentle ways to the
children by their parents who were descendants from the Native American.
Their Scottish blood too brought from those mixes of Celts and other
tribes came through as clearly, maybe reaching back to another time when
nature was set into their genes as well.
There was a difference in
their life style. They knew this without being told. Most of the children
they knew from their school life were not given the experiences their
parents brought to them, and maybe these were a little put off by what
they may have considered to be primitive. The time was not pioneer days
after all. This was a time of fast developing technology, new chemical
discoveries, in an environment set to the development of oil in every
aspect of the word. Although, jet fuel was unheard of at the time, it was
certainly having a foundation built for its introduction.
Their parents were in
agreement if not vocally preaching to them of the love for these
surrounding natural phenomena, but surely, in the expressions of simple
pleasure seen in these activities others might call simple. Homes in 1949
in Oklahoma were all heated with the readily available natural gas. It was
clean, plentiful and practical. However, they in accordance with their
parent's wishes were heating their farm house with wood. There was no law
saying they had to live here in the country. It would have been easier by
far to have moved to the center of the populated area into a small town
where every amenity was available including this natural gas, indoor
plumbing and paved streets. It was a choice their self educated father had
made. Here they became a quick and learned observer of the physical world
he loved.
Now the cross cut saw ripped
quickly through the log wedged on its place between two crosses built and
set into the ground. The v's of the support held the log steady and it was
at the proper height to lift it to a place where they did not have to sit
on their knees in order to work with the saw. The handles of the saw were
long enough so they, even as children, could hold them with both hands as
the saw tore back and forth through the log. Of course, their father was
the guiding hand to actually do most of the work. They only were convinced
in their own mind that they were his equal partner, pulling their weight
with the work. The only thing they had to remember was to pull on the saw
rather than push. When they forgot and tried to push, the saw would
buckle, catching and slowing, sometimes stopping completely, the back and
forth action. Their father in his extremely patient demeanor never changed
an expression or admonished them for the negative action. He simply
stopped, reset the saw and they continued.
The bits of wood to fly out
from where the log was being sawn were a bright golden light ochre in
color and looked like an amber Carmel syrup with nuts to top off a white
ice cream as they fell to the snow. The smoothness of the white substance
was now introduced to a rougher element. The snow was cold and impervious
to the light weight material which rested on top of its surface.
The pleasure of the heat to
come from the wood was to be enjoyed later. At the moment the greatest
experiences were these simple studies of texture, surface area, weight,
gravity, control through tools, and on and on went the lessons. If their
city companions were a bit squeamish as to their life style, the children
had no time to wonder about their feelings. Years later when the
suggestions of poverty were brought about, still the richness of the
children's gifts from their parents shored them up as mature folks who had
imaginary steel rods driven through them anchoring their psychic to the
ground beneath their feet and to the physical world always beautifully
around them. Even in the midst of the city a moment to observe some
natural phenomena was a gift to them, remembered from some distant
youthful experience.
"Slow your blade,"
their father cautioned them as they came to the base of the log they were
sawing. "Move your feet back." "You don't want a mashed
toe!" He warned as, sure enough, the heavy piece broke off and rolled
to the ground. There was a moment's pleasure as the task of one stove
sized piece was theirs. The instant was there and gone for now the blade
was being picked up with their father's strong hands and moved to the
proper place to begin another cut.
The sharp edges of the saw
were like hungry teeth, indeed, as they quickly set into the new cut.
The same chore would be
repeated over and over until the logs were finished and ready to go to the
second phase when their father used a heavy maul with an axe edge on one
side to split the short logs into smaller pieces, more easily picked up by
the children to carry to their place to be stacked neatly, ready for use.
These boys became grown men of
the family and years later made great contributions to the state in the
way of water sheds, building strong dams for conservation of water,
setting bridges over no one knows how many great roadways. Sometimes,
these shining remarkable, many laned, roads ran themselves immediately
through heavy wooded areas cutting strips through areas these city folks
would skim over and across in sleek automobiles. Their father lived to see
his son's accomplishments and his humble manner never changed even as he
enjoyed the achievements they made. After all when one understands the
working of physical phenomena how can there be a surprise.
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