SANTA, THE SPIRIT OF GIVING

 

Santa Present, Jamestown, NC

My daughter Beth walked grandson Leo over to a small neighborhood park this holiday season just before Christmas.  He was excited about the adventure.  The North Carolina weather was accommodating with warm breezes and sunshine.  He immediately broke into gales of laughter as he conquered every activity of climbing, sliding and swinging on all the activity features.  Of course, he was most excited about the advent of Santa’s annual arrival on Christmas morning, as he had selected a couple of toys from a Holiday catalogue and he knew Santa wouldn’t disappoint.

When they arrived back at the house, Leo was visibly upset which was out of character, especially compared to when he had left home.  When I inquired, she mentioned that a young teenager had driven past the playground and shouted “Santa isn’t real!” within earshot of Leo. He already has times of developing maturity, but that can obscure the fact that he is still a very young child.

I remembered having the same dilemma years ago when school children were spreading the same rumor.  Fortunately, we had prepared for the moment and explained that Santa is all about the spirit of giving.  And he has many helpers that are on his team, like the Santa in parades or the one at the department store where we get our picture taken.  We give presents to one another including strangers because we too like the good feeling of Christmas when we give to others.

Leo understood that reasoning and immediately wandered off to play with a couple of toys that were still present from Christmas’ past.  All was forgotten on Christmas morning when Leo excitedly opened that one present from Santa which he had requested from the catalogue. 

And we too were uplifted by revisiting the spirit of giving and celebrating the greatest Christmas gift of all.   

NEW YEARS RESOLVE

Stalwart Windmill, Western KS

The storms of life are not intended to discourage us,

but to develop a strong character which transcends this life.

Tough times don’t last; tough people do.

Welcome the New Year with the resolution of a stalwart Kansas

windmill standing firm against a threatening thunderstorm

and harnessing the winds into its own power!

Instead of showing rust and wrinkles like old barns,

show the world a shining attitude and character lines!

So don't pray for an easy life,

pray for a strong character.

STRENGTH OF CHARACTER

Windmill & Superstition Mountains--Sonoran Desert, AZ 

 DO NOT PRAY FOR AN EASY LIFE. 

PRAY FOR A STRONG CHARACTER.

The resolve of that windmill standing firm and facing the storms of life in concert with the strong land surrounding it immediately brought to mind one of my favorite wisdom thoughts and also good advice on prayer attitude. No loving Creator is going to zap us with an easy life, but revels in helping us to develop our strength of character as we weather the storms. Then, we don't develop rust and aging wrinkles like exposed iron and old barn wood, but a healthy tan and unique character lines as a tribute to successfully emerging on the other side!

THE BUFFALO NICKEL

 

Rare 1937-D Buffalo Nickel

Kansas Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve Herd 

I walked and rode over the Kansas Flint Hills as a youth with my dad and family members in pursuit of small game while the ever-present winds were part of my existence.  That experience taught me to understand that one cannot know a land or city unless you walk the trails and sidewalks and convene with both nature and the people.  I was vaguely aware of the distant past while walking over the prairies when encountering a buffalo wallow or wagon ruts that were destined for Oregon.

I never encountered a live buffalo until later in life at various zoos.  The animals were always out of their element in their loss of freedom and they languished in their reliance on their captors for survival.  I recently ran across the poster buffalo for this tragic end in Steven Rinella’s book on the American Buffalo.  At one point in our not too distant past around thirty-two million roamed free on the Great Plains alone.  Then upon the arrival of our ancestors to America, they were almost exterminated.  

In 1911 the U.S. Mint commissioned sculptor James Earle Fraser to design a replacement for the Liberty Head nickel which was considered to be too Romanesque.  He chose the buffalo as uniquely representative of America.  Fraser selected a buffalo in a New York Zoo named Black Diamond as his model.  The Philadelphia Mint began production in 1913 until 1938, making Black Diamond’s image widely distributed.  Ironically, Black Diamond was auctioned off in 1915 for $300 to a meat specialist where he was slaughtered and his head was prominently displayed in the owner’s office!

I like the way Rinella saw the buffalo symbolizing some of “our most confounding contradictions…At once it is a symbol of the tenacity of wilderness and the destruction of wilderness; it’s a symbol of Native American culture and the death of Native American culture; it’s a symbol of the strength and vitality of America and the pettiness and greed of America; it represents a frontier both forgotten and remembered; it stands for freedom and captivity, extinction and salvation.”

POSTSCRIPT:  

Senators Kassebaum and Bob Dole introduced a Senate bill in 1994 to begin setting aside a small segment of the once 170 million acres of North American tallgrass prairie that the vast herds of buffalo had occupied.  The Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve in the Kansas Flint Hills now occupies 10,000 acres and in 2009 the Nature Conservancy introduced a small herd of bison to roam free in their natural habitat.  

A rare 1937-D MS69 buffalo nickel now sells for $2,385—8 times the price of it’s model!

TATANKA OYATE, BUFFALO NATION

 

Tatanka Oyate, Buffalo Nation

Buffalo Stampede

Calling the Buffalo

As a youth growing up in central Kansas, I walked the tall grass prairies with a shotgun over my shoulder or grasped it in focused anticipation of the exploding rush of pheasants, prairie chickens, ducks and coveys of quail.  During one of those prairie chicken hunts we came across a buffalo wallow that was carved out of the peak of one on the rolling flint hills that were home to around thirty-two million of these large mammals on the Great Plains alone at their peak, according to Steven Rinella’s book, American Buffalo. 

But by the summer of 1872 the migrants that had begun to settle the country had discovered that buffalo leather with elastic tendencies was perfect for industrial belting and footwear.  Literally thousands of buffalo hunters converged on the Great Plains and began to decimate the great herds.  Individual hunters reported killing up to 250 in a single day.  Buffalo tongues were considered a delicacy and shipped in wooden barrels on rail cars.  The buffalo were almost hunted to extinction within a dozen years.  There was unprecedented waste generated at the time and the incredulous natives suffered the most, as the buffalo were their mainline sustenance.

The Native Indians had a sacred bond with the land and the animals that helped to sustain their lives.  They used every part of a buffalo for both food and shelter.  They would offer up a prayer of gratitude for the spirit of the animal that gave up its life to sustain theirs.  They constantly lived in nature and consequently were one with nature.  That understanding has now been lost on modern men who forage for food at a local supermarket and are totally removed from the animals whose flesh sustains them in neatly wrapped packages.

As I was walking one crisp autumn morning on a quail hunt along a stony creek bed, an anomaly appeared among the scattered rocks.  I readjusted my twelve-gauge shotgun and bent over to examine it.  A probable heavy spring rain had flooded the creek that meandered through these flint hills and had unearthed a beautifully crafted flint arrowhead.  That arrowhead had possibly been launched onto the south wind, flying on a feathered wooden shaft in pursuit of watering buffalo.  I was struck by the bond that now existed between the native warrior of the south wind and my own spirit which fortuitously crossed this same sacred path that day.  I still turn that fine crafted flint in my hand every now and then to relive that bond.       

THE PRICELESS CHRISTMAS BOX

 

Roi Tan Cigar Box, Emporia, KS

There’s a lot of wonderful children’s books to read to our kids during the holidays like the classic Christmas story of Jesus’ birth and childhood movies to watch like Toy Story 3.  The classic book about the Littlest Angel got my attention years ago and on the surface it’s a nice story about simple childhood treasures, love and sharing.  I do object to the notion that children die because God needs another little angel in heaven and I don’t believe we’re converted into angels, although many saints reside there. 

When the Son of God was born in Bethlehem and heavenly hosts were bringing elaborate gifts, God chooses the little boy’s earthly box because it contained his wonderful collection of a butterfly with golden wings, a sky-blue egg, two white stones and a leather collar that had belonged to his dog that had lived in absolute love and infinite devotion.  And His son was born to be king of both men and earth.

The Christmas box and the assortment of toys that the older boy was leaving behind in Toy Story 3 as he left for college reminded me of my grandfather’s cigar box that is still in my possession which contains the remnants of my own boyhood.  The sandbox my father made for me one Christmas was the scene of endless adventures for the cowboys, Indians, knights in shining armor and soldiers that I spent endless hours entertaining.  The skate key, birthday card signed “Mom and Grandpa”, arrowhead, model airplane alligator clips, game die, cat’s eye marbles, sand dollar and sea shells evoked precious memories.  The worn 1951 dog tag was given to me when my dad announced that our loyal family dog Patches had succumbed to being hit by a passing automobile.  That was my first encounter with death and losing a loved one—and the beginning of lost innocence.

I’d like to think that the contents of my priceless cigar box would be a good example of every earth boy’s Christmas toy story and a gift fit for a king who would be their savior!

SNOW GAZER HAIKU

Snow Gazer, Jamestown, NC

Snow flaking off clouds,

Silently drifting below,

Onto peaceful grounds.