Well let’s put this bad boy to rest and get on with it. There’s got to be better times ahead.
Happy New Year everybody.Happy New Year
Tag Archives: Dwight Lutsey
Summer Wind
There are portions of the Firehole river that race down from its confluence with the Madison and Gibbon rivers to tumble over the Firehole falls and through the Firehole canyon. At this point it’s a boisterous, tumultuous river, roaring with exuberance as it crashes over rocks, slams around high walled bends in the canyon, and sends its white frothed waters dancing into the air. Finally it makes its way through the Firehole Cascades and begins to widen and slow down and rest for awhile.
As it enters the Fountain Flats area very near the Mount Mary/Nez Perce trail it becomes an entirely different river. It’s wider, slower, often attaining a mirror like surface reflecting the pines that line its banks, with nothing to break its surface but the occasional trout rising to take a Stonefly or White Miller Caddis. Osprey take advantage of its crystal clarity to swoop down and grab its daily meal sending widening ripples outward until gradually the river returns to its quiet flow.
It is here that a pair of Trumpeter swans took residence one late spring choosing this quiet stretch of river to mate and feed and make it their home, at least for the summer. They slowly cruised up and down the still waters, gently feeding along the banks and seining the river bottom with their large webbed feet to bring the insects and other choice bits to the surface.One warm summer day the breezes that blew up and down the river causing ripples and swirls and little wavelets to spread across the river’s surface, disturbing its normal mirror like surface, found one of the swans standing on the bank. It wasn’t a strong breeze but it was enough to stir something in the swan. A memory of past flights perhaps, or a reminder of changes to come, it called to the swan and it spread its wings and raised itself high to catch every delicious bit of the breeze ruffling its feathers. Most likely reminding it of the journey it and its mate would soon be taking as the summer wind changed to fall. The call to them to begin that journey to their winter home too strong to ignore. That will come later, for now it can bask in the sun and take delight in the wonder and warmth of the summer wind.
End of a Long Day
Back in the day when free range mountain men traveled the vast open spaces and deep into the tall snow covered mountains things were not always glamourous. In fact it was a far cry from glamourous despite what the movies show.
It was often beyond cold or blisteringly hot. It was unbelievably difficult to get around and often just plain dangerous. One had to be constantly aware on a level we virtually never experience today. To stay alive took an enormous amount of effort and if you were out on the trail the way you kept safe was to stay awake and as alert as if your life depended on it, because it did.
There was a certain amount of safety in being a part of a group as there were more eyes to keep watch and you could post a guard at night so you could get some rest. Maybe. Because as you know if you’ve ever spent a night in the wilderness with nothing more than a campfire to keep the terrors at bay, there are things that go bump in the night and do not have your best interests at heart.You could be weary and tired beyond reckoning but you still had your job to do and you did it because you had no other choice. This was your life and even at the end of a long day you wouldn’t trade it for any other.
Morning Snow
On an early December morning a group of Sandhill cranes left for their daily flight to the feeding fields near Bosque Del Apache National Wildlife refuge. It was bitter cold on the high desert near Soccoro, New Mexico and an unusual light snow was falling on the ponds where the Sandhills had spent the night.
Sandhill Cranes can appear ungainly in certain activities but when they take flight they are the epitome of grace and beauty. Similar to cranes in Asia, most notably in Japan, they are very similar in appearance to their Japanese cousins the Red Crowned cranes. The difference being Red Crowned cranes have black tail feathers that droop like a bustle where as the Sandhill crane has straight shorter tail feathers.
This is a photograph reimagined into an art image by the use of software programs and hand manipulation of the elements of the images on the computer. The purpose being to elevate a normal photograph into a vision that brings out the emotional content of the scene while still keeping the primary elements, the cranes, in their original captured state. In other words, Birds in Art.
Along The Cimarron River
A section of the Santa Fe trail runs through the Cimarron National Grasslands near Elkhart Kansas, a large expanse of semi-desert land covered with sand sagebrush, cactus, and various flowering plants. The Cimarron river flows alongside the trail and during the summer months is usually dry. Huge old cottonwoods line the bank and provide some much needed shade to travelers passing through. The land is mainly flat with gently rolling hills and bluffs that line the valley. This is the old prairie in all its glory. History can be felt here as you travel the same trail that countless travelers have traveled before you, mountain men, settlers, wagon trains, Indian hunters and warriors, cowboys driving cattle, every memory of the old west has seen this trail and made their own journeys along it.
In early June of this year five historical reenactors riding mules and horses recreated a portion of that journey. They made the journey along the same route traveled by countless journeyers before them. Carrying their own food and water and camping in primitive camps they experienced the same brutal heat with temperatures reaching way into the high 90’s and a 13-15 mph wind that sometimes felt like the inside of a convection oven during the day, and dropping back into the 60’s at night, a blessed relief after the heat of the day. Riding the original trail, seeking water wherever it was available for their stock, climbing the bluffs to look over the endless sea of prairie grass, they felt the history of this famous byway. The discomforts all part of the journey.Memorial Day 2014-2020
It’s Memorial day again, May 25th, 2020 and as I do every Memorial day I repost this tribute to my late friend David L Hollingsworth. Another year has gone by and unlike my other memories which have started to fade away this was one has stayed crystal clear. This year especially, when we’ve been forced to isolate ourselves from our regular daily life, I’ve had plenty to think about, health, love, my family, life in general, all the mistakes I’ve made, all the current and previous tragedies, the good things that have happened, the list goes on, but the thing is I’ve had the privilege of thinking and doing those things, my friend David has not. Apparently it is something that happens to those of us that get older, the clarity of revisiting those times when we were most alive, I’m pushing hard on 76, and although I have memories aplenty this is the one that stands out for me. Especially today when we are tasked with remembering our friends and loved ones that have fallen. I know that this post is beginning to resemble a book but I don’t care. David and his life was and is worth all the words in the world. If you have time, read the whole thing, if you don’t, take a moment to say thanks to those we left behind. They deserve it. If this post resonates for you and you think of someone who has a similar loss, pass it on so they know they are not alone. Send it to anyone who might be thinking that the world has changed enough that these things no longer matter, they do. They do.
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May 25 2019, Once I realized that every Memorial day I get older, I realized that my memories, once so startling clear and precise, were beginning to fade a little around the edges. There are things that cannot be lost, this memory among them. It is self explanatory as you read through it. This day in which we are supposed to remember the friends lost and the circumstances that resulted in their loss, now used as an excuse to go camping or have a barbeque in the back yard, remains a special spot in our hearts to those who have lost someone because of our service to our country. As I age I find myself moved to tears more often and especially on this day when I think back on our good times and bad together as we made our way through our part of the war I have made a solemn vow to David L Hollingsworth and my self to never let his and our memories of that long ago time fade. If you have someone like that in your life you know what I mean. So today, Memorial Day, and for every Memorial day to come as long as I’m here, I will post this memorial to my long gone friend. Here’s to you Dave. I still miss you.
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Every Memorial day I am brought back with startling clarity to that time when I was in the service. I was in the Navy. A lot of that time is just a blur of places, travel, events, people. But some parts of it are etched so deeply into my soul that I can instantly bring back every moment, every sound, every smell and I am transported back there. Completely. I can feel that hot sun, smell the salt in the breeze off the ocean and feel the presence of the best friend I have ever had. His name was David L Hollingsworth and that’s what everyone called him. David L Hollingsworth. It wasn’t required. It just happened naturally. When you saw him it was perfectly normal to say “Hey, David L Hollingsworth, What’s happening”. Even some of the officers did it and they didn’t like anybody, especially enlisted men.
We were stationed on Guam in the Mariana Islands, part of the Trust Territory and overseen by the US government. The Mariana’s trench, the deepest place in the Pacific ocean, was just past the reef and it was always a test of will power to swim out over it knowing there were miles of water between you and the ocean’s floor. The time was 1963 through 1965. The war was Viet Nam.
David and I were Hospital Corpsmen in the Navy. We both went in as “kiddie cruisers”. That was when you went into the service the day after you were 17 and got out the day before you were 21, and we were stationed at Agana Naval Hospital there on Guam. It was also the home of Anderson Air Force base where many of the B-52’s that flew into Viet Nam were kept. I had just turned 19 when this picture was taken, so was David, still teenagers. Our peers were juniors in high school when we joined. We were attached to the psych unit of the hospital there and it was the place where many of those servicemen from the entire Southeast Asian theater, but mainly from Viet Nam, who had mental problems, or had physical injuries that affected their brains, or had fallen prey to the drugs that were so prevalent in Viet Nam, were brought to for treatment and care.
Our friendship started because of the way our names were spelled. His last name started with ‘H’ and mine with ‘L’ and the Navy would assign you to the various schools or duty stations by the first letter of your last name. All the ‘A’ through ‘G’s, were a group, all the ‘H through ‘O’s were a group and so on. Both of us being in the ‘H’ through ‘O’ group, we were sent to the various schools and Duty Stations together until we finally wound up on the island in 1963.
Being on Guam was very much like that opening line “In A tale of Two Cities”.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way –”
Living on an island in the South Pacific is not the Paradise everyone thinks it is. Yes it is beautiful, yes you are disconnected from everyday life, yes it is the getaway that you want, but only for a short time. After a while reality sets in. The constant heat, humidity, the unrelenting trade winds that drive you crazy. The boredom, the smallness of the island. You could ride a bike around it in a couple of hours. The tedious yet dangerous aspect of the work, all combined to make it a place you wanted to be away from. And right now. It was why we put in for every opportunity to get off the island, whether it was for extra duty, or leave, or any excuse you could think of, you wanted to be gone.We all handled our time there in different ways. I bitched. I bitched about it constantly. I know it’s not the most flattering way to describe yourself but it is accurate. I hated it there. I couldn’t wait for any opportunity to leave and pulled every string I could to make it happen. I also spent my time thinking about the future, how long did I have before I could get off this rock, what I was missing by being there, everything I could do to make my stay there more miserable, I did. David on the other hand lived in the moment. He took each day as a new one, bright with promise. There was always something that made the day exciting, fulfilling, adventuresome. It didn’t matter that it was Guam, why sweat it, we were alive. A lot of guys weren’t. He was the most serene person I have ever known. I used to call him Buddha because of it. That and his round, bowling ball shaped head.
It was due to him that I was able to finish my time there and finally leave and come home. Come back to the world we called it. Every time I felt like I was going to lose it he was there and in a few simple sentences would talk me down and I was good for another little while. He never needed that. He was a rock. He could find something new and interesting to do when all the rest of us just saw the endless days on the calendar with the x’s marked through showing how long we’d been there and how long we had to go. David didn’t have a calendar, he didn’t care. “Let’s go diving”, he’d say. Or “lets get a beer”. We were lucky, we got out of there, we made it through, we lived, and we returned to the world. We stayed in touch.
I remember the first night I got the phone call. It was 3 in the morning. I was asleep with my wife. He was crying so hard that I couldn’t understand him. He had just recently gotten married to the love of his life, they were starting a family. He had finally finished jumping through all the hoops to become a doctor and had just joined a prestigious practice where he was an oncology resident. His life was pointed forward in the best way it could be, And he was dying. Dying from Hodgkin’s. It was the first of many late night calls. Nights were hard for him. I used to wake up in the middle of the night thinking I heard the phone ring. Sometimes I would lay awake waiting because I knew he was going to call.
We talked of many things. In the beginning it was usually about treatment. Then when it became apparent that there wasn’t going to be any treatment that would work we talked of other things. We talked about our time together on Guam, and the liberty we pulled. The women we knew. We remembered his visit to the house when I was first starting out with my family and he wanted to see my son. “So I can remember him like this when he is a man” he’d said. And we talked about the one thing that we’d never talked about when we were together and that was the future. David’s whole life philosophy was, if you’re not happy with your self or your life now, what’s going to make it better in the future.
I won’t go into those discussions because even now nearly 30 years later, they’re too personal and too difficult to set down on paper. For someone who was able to handle every difficulty life threw at him by being able to be positive in the present, the future was the one thing that terrified him the most. Not for himself so much but for the ones he would leave behind. It seemed like our late night calls went on forever and his dying lasted an eternity but they were really very short. He died in just a few months.
I was asked to be a pallbearer and we flew out to California for the funeral. Of course the airline lost my luggage and I showed up in jeans and a leather jacket to perform my duties. It seemed like everyone in the world was there. David made friends by the busload. All the doctors he worked with, some of the team from our service days, personal friends of the family, he had a big send off. He was just 41. One of the guys asked why I hadn’t worn a suit and I told him the airline lost my luggage. He said ” Oh, I thought you were just making a statement” which I probably would have if I’d thought of it. Dave would have thought it was cool.
So Memorial day for me is a sad kind of day. I think about all the guys that didn’t make it. Those that I knew and those that I didn’t. When you see a lot of death at a young age it changes how you think about it. You get callous. That changes as you get older though. The callouses rub off. Now I have to be careful how I think about those things because all the emotions I didn’t have or hid, as a young man, I have in spades now. It doesn’t take a whole lot to bring me to my knees. One of the hardest things for me is realizing that my best friend in the world didn’t have a future and if anyone on this earth deserved one it was him.
Usually you think of Memorial day as one in which we remember the ones who fell in the war, serving our country, and that is a big part of it for me too, but also as one who spent the most formative years of my young adult life in the service, in a place where nothing was permanent, where when you said good-by to someone you meant it, it was the relationships, the friendships that were formed and carried forward for the rest of my life that are the most memorable. David didn’t die in the war like so many others we knew, but it was where we met. And our bonds were forged during that time when people we knew were fighting and dying, and dealing with it was the basis of our friendship. I know it played a crucial part in who I became and who David became. It made us brothers. And when he died it didn’t matter that we didn’t share blood. The grief was the same. Every Memorial day I remember and so far the memory has never faded, we were brothers, once and forever.
Rest in Peace David L Hollingsworth. I could use your friendship again. I miss you.
Yeah I Ate The Peaches
This being an Instrument of Recording of the Interrogation of Private William K Norrich, known also as Billy the Grip, a devious peculator and boundless defalcator who did on June 27, 1864 make his way surreptitiously and with malice aforethought to enter the food storage area for the Colorado 11th Regiment, 5th Company, 3rd Platoon, to steal supplies for the regiment for his own nefarious ends. Namely four (4) 5 gallon tins of peaches reserved for the officers mess, the entire supply for the regiment.
This enlisted man, Private William K Norrich, who has a record of many infractions and disciplinary notations in his personel file, including being AWOL during encounters with the enemy saying he did not understand the commands of his platoon leader believing that the command to charge meant run away; being drunk on watch; raising dissention in the ranks by complaining of the food served in the enlisted men’s mess by voicing loud and boisterous derogatory remarks about the lack of peaches for the troops; refusing to obey lawful orders from his superiors by pretending to be deaf and incontinent; plus numerous other infractions, did enter the food storage area and pilfer the containers of peaches taking the entire supply, depriving his Officers of their expected deserts.
Private William K Norrich was discovered after he reported to the camp surgeon complaining of gastrointestinal distress. The Officer of the day, LTJG Millard K Ordom was notified after it was determined that the private’s symptoms were due to being impacted by peach pits. He was remanded to the brig after recovering from a treatment of lemons, figs and castor oil to obtain the evidence of his crime. When asked if he was the culprit of the theft his only reply was “Yeah, I Ate The Peaches.” also stating “They was good.” Due to the lack of remorse of the charged we recommend a Summary Court Martial as soon as the prisoner can walk.Signed as investigating officer, LTJG Millard K Ordom this day June 29th, 1864
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