Men Of The Hood

     I hate it, but sometimes success happens in spite of any effort on my part.  I don't hate it because I desire accolades; although recognition can be a form of motivation.  They say, "Success breeds success".  I desire to be a part of the success towards growth, and so I hate it when I'm not.  I love positive influence.  I hate it when I screw up an opportunity to make a difference.  It's one thing to screw up when I'm oblivious to what I'm doing or what's happening around me.  It's another thing to screw up when I know what I'm doing but can't seem to help myself.  I don't believe it's due to arrogance or indifference.  I do care.  I think it's simply stubbornness; and that's coming from someone who is generally helpful and kind spirited.  Perhaps it's stubbornness born of a competitive spirit.  Perhaps it's the threat of change.  Regardless, I'm that man too sometimes; and when I am, I hate it.  I want to be influential in being a small part of someone else's success "because of" what I did, rather than "in spite" of what I contributed. (The Apostle Paul spoke of these very same feelings in Romans 7:14-25 in the Bible.)

     These thoughts led me to read Raising a Modern Day Knight by Robert Lewis for the first time in 2006.  My son, Todd, was 9 years old at the time.  As a father I wanted to do "this Dad thing" right.  Going into his senior year of high school this school year I have sometimes had a hard time differentiating or discerning between who he has become and what role I have played in that.  Maybe it's not an "either/or".  Maybe it's a combination of many factors.  It's these things that excite me when I see my son.  It's these things that haunt me when I see myself.

     I think that is why my friend, Mark, and I reread Lewis's book together last summer (2014).  It gave us a chance to dialogue and talk about important things, family things, life things.  Reading the book helped us see how we were raised by our own fathers, how we are loved by our heavenly Father, and how we are living as fathers.  While reading the book we gleaned information and coupled that from what we had learned from John Eldredge's book, Wild at Heart.  Mark and I began to plan a time where we could bring our sons together to talk about life and especially life as a young man.  Robert Lewis had written, "Manhood ceremonies have, in fact, become a lost art form.  And sons have lost these powerful, life-changing moments where, in the presence of Dad and other men, they can mark either their progress toward or passage into manhood."

     In 2009, together with my own Dad, my brother-in-law Jim, my brother-in-law

Kevin, his son Pierce, and my son Todd, we took a backpacking trip into Newport State Park in Door County, Wisconsin.  It was a ceremony to initiate the transition from boyhood into adolescence.  The weekend was highlighted by all of us coming together to "Count Coup" as we waded into the shallows of Lake Michigan and tagged massive carp that had come up into the bay.  It was successful because we planned out our purpose, and strategy, and worked as one unit.  We related this, in Biblical application, to a young David who chose to come close and undetected up to King Saul but left him unharmed (1 Samuel 24 & 26).

     Last fall, Mark and I wanted to recognize the transition from being an adolescent into being a young man.  We brainstormed ideas, fought through the walls that held us back (doubt, time, broken hand, and weather) and settled on a weekend camping trip together in September.  We scheduled the couple of days to include both planned opportunities for talking about manhood as well as times for spontaneity.  We wanted

to be intentional about our purpose, while allowing for the Spirit's leading in regard to adventure and teachable moments.  We set up camp, hiked, talked, hiked again, cooked food, and hunkered down to sleep in extremely cold temperatures.  We also tried fishing, but in windy, white-capped conditions we went rock climbing instead.  It was memorable.  It was applicable.  We used as our focus the concept of a "Vision for Manhood"; someone who rejects passivity, accepts responsibility, leads courageously, and expects God's greater reward.  To guide this vision we used a "Code of Conduct" involving three aspects.  Number one was, "A

Battle to Fight"; having spiritual truth, being a Godly example, sharing stories, having affirmation and discipline.  Another was, "An Adventure to Live"; this involved work, our profession, giftedness, dreams, and design.  Lastly was, "A Beauty to Rescue"; this code related to love, honor, generosity, chivalry, and being gallant.  Both Garret and Todd have known each other since they were wee lads, so it was cool to witness them sharing that experience together.

     Today Mark, Garret, Todd and I got together again.  It had been six months since our "Manhood Outing".  Although we weren't as specific in mapping out the vision and

code this time, we did talk about life in the form of school, classes, friends, and activities.  It was a good chance to reconnect and enjoy a good morning together.  The outing was centered around hiking and cooking over an open fire.  It's hard to go wrong under those circumstances.  Still, it was instrumental, for me at least, to see growth and change in our boys.  

     When I get down on myself, or only see my failures in how I am as a Dad, I can look back at these marked experiences.  I may hate when I screw up by saying or doing the wrong thing.  I may hate when I worry about what kind of legacy I'm leaving or traits I'm passing on.  But if I'm practicing what I'm preaching, that vision and that code apply to me too.  Becoming a real man isn't simply when you move from high school into college, the service or a career; it's for life.  Thank you God; because you modeled grace, mercy, forgiveness and love it allows me to be a positive influence.  This influence is not in spite of me, but because of what you do through me.

See you along The Way... 

The Lion And The Lamb

     The traditional saying for March is, "In like a lion, out like a lamb."  This year it's been closer to, "In like a lion, out like a lamb, and back in like a lion."  The month began with subzero temperatures, soared into the 70's two weeks ago, leveled out last week and then it snowed 4+ inches Sunday night/Monday morning before settling into the "teens" today.  Tonight it’s supposed to rain and possibly be a thunderstorm.  When my son came out and saw the heavy snow falling yesterday (he had run shirtless in track practice last week) he said God's probably looking around saying, "Are you not entertained?" (Using Russell Crowe's voice from Gladiator.)  If I hadn't been heading to school I would have been out in it; and yes, I would have been entertained!

     I never had a chance to head out to the woods on Saturday or Sunday.  Spring Break is in one more week and I should have a chance to get out on a couple of those days.  Instead, I took advantage of decent weather and being around home.  I started Saturday by running 3 miles in and around Rockton while the kids were at track practice.  I'm trying to get my Achilles tendon and calf muscle back in working order before the summer and fall.  It's steady base work now for speed and endurance later.  Once home, I worked on renaming and organizing our picture files on the computer.  A necessity, as Cindy gathers photos for an album that documents Todd's high school years before he graduates this spring.

     In the early afternoon I raked around the back patio.  The ten foot swath along the foundation still hasn't received direct sunlight, as it's on the north side of the house and in the shadows throughout the day.  The raking got rid of the riff-raff and seemed to revive it.  I also raked out the old skeletons of last summer's garden plants, and then used a shovel to turn the soil over.  

The temperatures were mild, lamblike, and sweatshirt worthy.  After a dinner break, I turned over our compost pile too.  Once I had started a fire in our fire-pit, I burned what I had raked, and then added what I found along the west-side fence-line in the form of old leaves.  It was an early start to "spring cleaning" before winter returned.  Luckily I had completed some yard work back in the late fall to make it a bit easier this spring.  I came in after dark and relaxed a while with the family; watching a little basketball on TV, before going to bed.

Chives from Grandma Fagerlund
poking up in the corner of our garden.

     On Sunday I ran again, and then our family headed down for church.  It was a "wrap up" message, reviewing the series of "How To Eat An Elephant."  A great, practical way to take one step (or bite :) at a time towards change or working towards goals relating to everything from friends and family to finances and fun.  Back at home I took a much needed "catch-up nap" before heading over to school to organize my room for a project in science this week, and do some correcting (while listening to Wichita St. beat Kansas in the NCAA tournament on the radio..."March Madness").  With temperatures and snow falling, I came home for a meal of tacos and then headed for Menards; making it with ten minutes to spare before they closed.  I bought four 2x4s and some sandpaper for the science project.  Coming home, I fired up my Grand-dad's old table saw to cut the boards into the sizes I needed.  I cleaned up and was able to get to bed a little before 10:00.  It was a good weekend to work on things that needed to be accomplished before March ended like a lion.  
See you along The Way...

Before

After

Budging To Be First

     In elementary school it's common place to hear the phrase, "No Budging."  Although saddened when the district I teach in split from a traditional kindergarten through 8th grade building, the new format of having a separate K-4 elementary and 5-8 middle school allowed me to break away from such formalities as having students constantly assemble within lines.   I don't hear the phrase "No Budging" any longer, as students in the middle school switch classrooms on the bells.  For that I am grateful.  I've never quite understood the concept behind it anyway.  It all boils down to wanting to be first.  If someone is allowed to "budge" then everyone else behind them will get to the appointed destination later than expected.  If students think such nonsense saves them time, they haven't walked with me.  When I move out, both the runner and the math teacher side of me comes out.  The shortest distance between two points is a line.  I don't like to waste time as it's of the essence.  So I deviate only for walls and others, unless I'm outside exploring on a hike, in which case I might also move aside for a tree, precious plant or waterway.  Last night I was able to get out for a couple of hours.  On the tail-end of a good weekend of track meets, church, a little cleaning, managing bills and spending time with family; it felt refreshing.  Typically I get out in the morning before the day is officially underway for most others, but last night was different.  In fact, in some ways the last few days have been different.  A week ago I walked the ice-way of the nearby frozen creek like it was seasoned concrete.  A day later a foot of water was flowing on top of it due to the sudden warm weather.  Now, five or six days later, hardly any snow can be found unless it was a remnant from a drift, pile from a plow or hidden in the shadows on the north-side of some obstruction.  On Thursday I saw the first of the returning

grackles.  On Saturday I got a picture of the first returning robin of the spring.  It hopped right up next to our patio off the sliding glass door.  

     When I went out on Sunday evening the river was running free, for the first time in a long time, but some ice still covered some of the backwater areas.  Although I doubt winter is entirely over, it has definitely lost its powerful grip.  The surprise was in how it happened so quickly.  As I led the dogs on their leashes, and

into the woods of choice, I could hear the newly returned sandhill cranes, away to

the southeast in a nearby field.  I love winter, but I enjoyed hearing the sounds of the crane's return.  Perhaps it's the change of the seasons that I love even more.

     I was never deep in the woods last night.  I could either hear the occasional car or

at least see outlines of the road most of the time.  I was held at bay by the backwater oxbows, filled with deep water or layered in weak ice.  The woods also held me in check with the underbrush of prickly ash; so thick in some areas that I had to walk out and around sections of it in large circles to advance at all.  My hands quickly became poked, prodded and scraped.  It was the first time hiking in an area extensively covered in this plant.  It was difficult, but I enjoyed the challenge of getting through it and around it.  I did wear my hip boots, which allowed me to wade through the shallow, marshy areas.  The dogs, released to their freedom, followed by racing and splashing unheeded through the water.  Perhaps that was what caused the bald eagle to veer overhead and fly back over towards the river.  

Pileated Woodpecker Hole
and my hand with a prickly ash wound.

It was about that same time that I also found fresh signs where a pileated woodpecker jack hammered into a dead tree and where bank beavers had dined on sandbar willow twigs.

     I eventually became trapped between the river and where the oxbow drained.  It was there that I back-tracked to my entry point.  But not before our young puppy Kora, in unchecked adolescence, went racing through the bank-side grasses with her tongue lolling, only to find herself suddenly airborne.  Her momentum had carried her right off the bank and out over the river.  With a "Ka-sploosh" she went under, bobbed up, paddled to the shore, found a place to climb up and then shake off.  You could tell it freaked her out, but she did an excellent job of "saving face".  Our older dog, Kati, tolerates water and isn't afraid to wade through it to stay with me, but we may have more of a water dog in Kora.  She was border-line crazy in the shallower water, although noticeably humbled as well after that unexpected swim.

     Once back at the entry point, I headed south along the side of an oxbow to where I found an island of sorts.  The sun was beginning to set but I waded across and got a

fire quickly going on the small rise in the land.  I cooked my traditional potatoes and cheese but had a brat as well; complete with a bun, ketchup, relish, and spicy mustard.  I had brought the dogs their own food.  While cooking, I saw a wood duck fly over; the first of the spring.  Those backwater areas are prime real estate for them.

     As I hiked out the sun was well below the horizon, but the color left in the sky was a beautiful reddish orange with hints of purple.  It was my first outing without winter attire.  After only a week out from

winter's icy grip there were already many "first" signs of spring that I was able to notice.   Spring didn't have to budge in.  Winter wouldn't have let it anyways; not without having to call out to the teacher.  Spring was in line already; waiting its turn and knowing it was going to reach its destination whether it moved up closer to the front or not.
See you along The Way...

Acer Saccharinum

     I'll admit that when I was first introduced to the silver maple tree I was a bit aloof; bordering on being snobby.  The disdain, I suppose, came from a comparison with its more northerly cousin; the sugar maple.  It was the sugar maple that blanketed a large percentage of the woods behind our house when I was a kid, and provided us with maple syrup, firewood and excellent climbing trees.  It became the benchmark that other maples were measured against.  In fact, it became the standard for most trees, because it was all I knew.  Looking back at how I viewed the silver maple, it was prejudice born of ignorance.

     Not that long ago, my wife and I made a list of things we would and would not want in a home.  They were not absolutes, simply suggestions for our realtor, to help narrow the search towards what would best fit our family.  On the side of "would not want" I actually listed the silver maple.  Paraphrased, I wrote something to the effect that they're fine lining a river bank but I didn't want one in my front yard.  I think the feelings came from having seen them used as a quick fix to the shade and vegetation problems within new subdivisions.  They also tended to grow split trunks, had root structures that protruded from the ground and, although considered a hardwood, they weren't as strong as the sugar maple.

     The house we ended up with at the time was mainly wooded with burr oaks.  It was hard to argue with such a slow growing, massively strong tree like that.  It was about that same time that several factors and circumstances began to change my thinking of the silver maple; known by the scientific Latin name of Acer saccharinum.  Acer related to the sharp pointed tips that are found on most maple leaves.  Saccharinum related to the sugar content found in its sap.  Strangely similar is the Latin name for the sugar maple; Acer saccharum.  The commonality comes from the sugar they both carry.  Although the sugar maple does have a higher level of sugar, the silver maple isn't too far off.

     It's interesting how ignorance can be erased when you spend some quality time with those you don't understand.  As my explorations of the regions within Winnebago County expanded, so did the frequency of my run-ins with the silver maple.  

I have good memories of working in, and romping through, the white cedar swamps up north.  As a result, I found myself drawn to the swampy bottom-lands along some of our nearby rivers and creeks here in Northern Illinois.  Most people don't visit those areas, so they remain enticingly secluded.  The bottom-lands also tend to be void of trails, due to the fact that for a good portion of the warmer seasons they are under water.  That's perfect for those wanting to trek unmarked territory and perhaps see some things that might otherwise go unnoticed; regardless of what season it is.  Several times, over the last few years, I've followed raccoon trails in the snow to hollow silver maple trees.  After lowering my camera into the den, I was able to capture pictures that showed a group of coons huddled together for warmth.

     Since the year I began teaching, I have taught a science lesson down by the creek near our school.  Now, years later, this has grown to include our entire team of fifth grade teachers.  We spend a whole day, out-of-doors, teaching various subjects under the canopy of the trees beside the creek; as the classes rotate through our stations.  My science station is at the foot of two massive silver maples.  The bigger of the two has nine huge trunks protruding from its base.  The biggest trunk is thicker than what my arms can wrap around.  This tree has become my favorite silver maple of all time, and my students know this.  I simply have grown to love that these trees grow in areas close to the waterways that I like to walk beside.  Each year now we have our class picture in front of that particular tree; after the kids have had the chance to climb up into it.  I can relate to the feelings they have.  When I step up into its basin and am held within its loving arms, it's hard to imagine any animosity I may have felt toward this species of tree.

     Although we only have our "Creek Walk Day" once a year, in the fall, I often walk down to the creek and check on the silver maple throughout each of the various seasons.  A few years ago we moved closer to the school where I teach.  That same nearby creek provides me with a local place where I can get to quickly, run the dogs, listen to trickling water and watch the leaves rustle in the trees.  And while I do enjoy watching the heart shaped leaves of the cottonwood, the silver maple looks pretty majestic when its leaves flutter back and forth between the green and silver coloring.  The windier it is, the more its silver underside is exposed.

     Yesterday I walked down to the creek and cooked breakfast at the base of the "The" silver maple.  I took several pictures of it from different angles, including one from the creek itself; atop the ice.  I'd like to take pictures from those same locations during each of the seasons throughout the year.  It would make for an interesting collage; one worthy of hanging in our house.  It's the least I can do for this species of tree that I once maligned.

Cottonwoods on the left & "The" Silver Maple on the right.

     This afternoon my daughter Jodi and I returned to the creek, walked the dogs, and spent a little time together.  After the warmer weather we've had the last two days, the snow had begun to melt and water was running on top of the ice.  We climbed up into the silver maple, peeked out through its trunks and laughed.  When we were done, we walked back to our house.  Our house is fairly easy to spot.  It's the one with the silver maple in the front.

See you along The Way...

The "Winter Version" of my Science Station.
My favorite Silver Maple back on the left...
The smaller of the two on the near right.

Jodi...within the silver maple's arms.

Newton's Apple Remembered

     It's interesting how one thing can lead to another; either due to a direct impact or through indirect influence.  In the early to mid 1660's, the Great Plague swept through Europe and on to the British Isles.  That led to the temporary closing of the University of Cambridge in England.  And although it was a tragic, scary time period, a young scholar named Isaac Newton took full advantage of the time off from the university to pursue his studies independently.  Among the insight he gained from tests he conducted on various theories and principles, he also experienced revelations in regard to the concept of gravity.  It was a concept that was apparently inspired from watching a falling apple.  That experience led to thoughts of acceleration, which in turn, became the fundamental basis for his Second Law of Motion.

     I thought of this story of Newton on Saturday.  I thought of it as a figurative idiom.  It was the second day in a row that I had an opportunity to head out to the woods.  

I am fortunate indeed; and while working hard all week, I look ahead for such periods of time when I can escape and relax by playing hard too.  This time I went out with my Dad.  It was the first time I'd had an opportunity to take him out on one of my winter outings.  Only a year ago he had had hip replacement surgery.  In the midst of continued cold weather, I took him to the spot where my winter wanderings all started.

     When I say, "where my winter wanderings all started", I am referring to my life here in the State-line.  If I go back before that, anything I did probably came from, or involved, my Dad in some shape or form; back in the "Old Country" on our little farm in Otsego County.  Hopefully as the years go by I can look back and say, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."  I can't say that Saturday's outing led me to any thoughts on gravity, but I did think about how time accelerates the older we get.  I suppose that's why I try to take advantage of any and all opportunities when my Dad and I do get together.

     As we hiked, we talked.  We've always been able to do that.  We joke that some of our best father-son conversations were while we were cleaning manure out of the stalls in our barn; that was often a cold weather activity.  Not an activity that was necessarily in the dead of winter, because the snow was too deep to haul it out over the garden, but we usually did do the cleaning in the late fall or early spring.  Such a chore made for a captive audience.  We would clean the pens at that time for several reasons.  One was that it probably didn't smell quite as bad then as it would in the middle of the summer.  Plus you didn't have the flies.  Another was because it would allow the animals to have a clean pen going into the winter, when they were inside more than out.  Sometimes it was because the manure had built up after a long winter indoors.  We usually cleaned on a day with nasty weather; a day when you couldn't do anything else.  It was for these reasons, coupled with the ingredients of the 4 or 5 tined pitchfork, our wheelbarrow, and some good, old fashioned grunt work that gave us the opportunity to talk.

     Beyond our conversations when cleaning the barn, we also talked while working outside.  It was the kind of work that would eventually lead to play.  Because of our location in the "Snow Belt" of Northern Lower Michigan, we often had family and friends stay at our house for “get-a-way” weekends in the winter.  We would usually sled/tube or cross country ski; adults and kids alike.  To prepare for such outings, we cut brush and trees off the hills and along the trails.  It was tough work.  It was fun work.  It was work to talk to.  Our hill was well known, and historic, as a place to gather youth groups, cousins, and friends throughout the winter months.  It was the fruition of my Dad's dreams.  He even installed an old tow rope, from a nearby downhill ski resort, through holes he augured through cedar posts.  People would use them as a hand hold to climb back up the hill.  When you worked to create something like this you enjoyed it all the more.

     We had miles of cross country ski trails snaking through the hills and valleys behind our house.  To groom them, my Dad and I would snowshoe them first.  The front person would break trail while the one behind would overlap the middle track creating a "three track wide" trail.  Where trails merged, or came down a steep incline into a curve, we often would stomp down more snow to allow for error while skiing.  More than once we would return from packing the trails on snowshoes only to be greeted by our guests who had just arrived.  With a change of clothes and the transition from snowshoes to skies we'd be off again; this time with a whole entourage.  Those adventures led to some great times and memories.  It's hard to erase a classic wipe-out at the bottom of a run from memory, especially when you witnessed it or lived it.

     It was these thoughts that ran through my head as my Dad and I hiked along last Saturday; thinking of the past while talking in the present.  We watched the dogs often, and that reminded us of Teddy, Susie, King and Cricket, and later Kelly and Dolly; all good dogs.  They were all dogs we had up north, that loved romping in the snow, as Kati and Kora were doing that day.

     With the fresh snow, fresh signs and tracks were everywhere.  There were prints

Eagle Wing Print

from voles and their low bellies, mice with their tracks packing down whole areas under the seed heads of the rattlesnake master prairie plant.  An owl's print was left where it grazed the snow with its left wing and then dug in with its right as it made its attack.  A coughed up pellet was the only other sign that it left.  Further on it became evident why we had seen 4 or 5 bald eagles in the trees ahead of us, when we came upon the carcass of a raccoon.  The snow was packed from their feet and marked with their great wing tips as well.  They all left stories in the snow.  Cold winter days are like that; they resurrect visions of the past while creating new ones.  I enjoyed the day with my Dad; hiking, talking, listening, solving world problems and spending time together.  He's good at that.  Newton would have been inspired and proud.  Dad's a good tree for this apple.  
See you along The Way.