Bygone
My father’s birthday was January 15th. I always try to get to the cemetery and visit
his grave on or near the date. This year
the visit got me thinking as I contemplated the dates etched in the
marble. He was born in 1918. That means that he would have been celebrating
his 107th birthday if he was still alive. Unfortunately, he passed away in 1984, so he
wasn’t really all that close to hitting the century mark, let alone beyond it.
Today’s world is said to be changing at lightning
pace. We are said to be living in
unprecedented times. I won’t argue or dispute
that. Still, if I reflect on some of the
stories I did hear either from my parents or those of similar age, consider the
following:
My parents recalled the days when horses still commonly shared
the streets with automobiles. Many of
the vendors who routinely made their way through the neighborhood by
horse-drawn wagon were the milk man, the ice man, and my personal favorite –
the rag man.
There was a time when my four children were still
young that we bought four gallons of milk each week. My grandparents would have never considered
such a thing, especially given that there would not have been enough room in the
ice box in the kitchen for such a quantity of milk. And the block of ice probably would not have
been able to prevent so much milk from spoiling before it could be used. Could we live today without complaint without
the convenience of abundance?
Still, there were fond memories of the ice man. Even my older brothers and sisters remembered
following the ice man on hot summer days and begging until he took out his ice
pick and broke off slivers of ice that he tossed to each of the children who
followed behind his wagon. Would
children today clammer and beg for the simple fleeting joy of sucking on a
sliver of ice on a hot summer day?
The concept of making a living by buying and selling
rags seems strange today. But perhaps
there is no better symbol of how everything was seen to have value in earlier
times. Nothing was considered purely
disposable. Rags could be used in a
myriad of household tasks, and even cut and sown together for clothing. Would any of us have the humility to wear
clothing that was patched together with rags?
Every house back then had a huge garden that took up
most of not all of the backyard.
According to my parents there was nothing to eat so delicious as a potato
raked out of the coals of the fire used to burn all of the raked leaves in the
fall. You simply whittled through the
charred outer bit until you found the white, creamy center. As popular as food and cooking shows are
these days, would any of these renown chefs demonstrate cooking potatoes in a
leaf pile?
My mother recalled how much her father enjoyed taking
long car trips each summer. I remember
two things about those trips that caught my attention: it was necessary for
everyone to get out and help change a flat tire several times each trip, sometimes
it was a daily event. Also, my grandfather
was apparently adamant about stopping at every historical and geological marker
along their route. I think about my own
rush to get where I am going especially whenever there is a substantial distance to
cover. [I will use a question format
here for the sake of consistency even though I know well that I don’t posses it.] Would we, would I, have that kind of
patience? In our world of interstate super
highways could we rediscover the experience of an unhurried journey?
I suspect that bygone eras are indeed bygone, never to
really return again. But there are
things we should not leave behind.
Things like close families, resilience, simplicity, self-reliance, valuing everything
and everyone, that slower is at times better, the value of learning, there is
no such thing as meaningless work, community, and faith.
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
Photo by sue hughes on Unsplash
Comments
Post a Comment