Big Bear Tale for Father's Day

Dear Boo and Bubble,

Over the last couple of days, I’ve spent some time going through boxes of stuff that I brought up to the mountains from Aunt Bee’s attic.  When Captain and I sold our house on Northshore Road in Columbia, SC, in 2003 and moved onto our sailboat Up Jinks in 2004, we stored all kinds of things at her house – from fine china and crystal to albums filled with photographs.  She graciously let it all stay put, taking up valuable space, but we finally relieved her of most of it.  What fun I’ve had digging around in a literal treasure trove of memories, among them such gems as a Greenville News dated August 9, 1974 with the headline “NIXON RESIGNS”; a Washington Post newspaper dated September 12, 2001 recounting the horrors of the day before; a copy of an editorial from The Greenville News dated April 25, 1989, endorsing Captain’s proposed legislation to institute Zero-based budgeting in the South Carolina House of Representatives. 

There were, also, pictures galore and I’ve been scanning them all for preservation and to relieve some space in my closet where the boxes have been stored.  Each one brought a chuckle or a sigh or even a tear as I remembered the occasions on which they were taken.  Many were of friends that we’ve made over our incredible lives, some of whom are no longer with us but, in seeing their images, come alive again through the memories that the pictures portray.

Tucked in between the sleeves of one of the albums, I found a letter dated May 16, 1992.  At the top was a handwritten note from you Great Granddaddy Schaefer to Captain saying – “John, thought you would enjoy this.  Bob sent it to me.”  It was a letter written to your great, great Uncle Bob Poerschke by a gentleman named Hayes McNeill and I want to share with you some of its content, but will need to give you the background first.

Hayes was (physically then, spiritually now since Bryant is no longer here) your great Uncle Bryant’s best friend.  For years, the two of them organized an annual week-long camping/trout fishing trip to a national park campground at the foot of Mt. Mitchell.  Captain and Uncle Bob were among the cadre of eight or so men who convened each year and, over time, the event grew to heroic proportions both in terms of preparation for and times had.  It even had an acronym – SNAG (Sensitive New Age Guys) – and, at some point, also evolved into a cooking competition of the highest sophistication with a musical jam session following each gourmand meal.  When Captain would pull out of our driveway (with great glee) in the blue Jeep for that last week of May, his seat was the only open space in the car.  The rest was filled with tarps, coolers, tents, rods, reels, tackle boxes, waders, fly-fishing vests, charcoal grills, a set of spoons to play for the concerts around the fire at night, and the ingredients for the recipe he had carefully selected as his epicurean contribution to the week.  The camping trip was a most anticipated week away for all the men involved.

Apparently Uncle Bob had been unable to go in 1992 and Hayes thoughtfully took it upon himself to include Bob in the happenings he had missed.  The year before, a bear had invaded the campsite while everybody was asleep and rent asunder anything not hung out of reach or locked in a car – including Bob’s blue cooler, leaving teeth punctures in the top that gave some indication as to the bear’s size. 

He or she made a return appearance in 1992 and the letter captures the description of what happened – as only Hayes McNeil can.

Dear Bob:

This is to report that some of us, at least, got home safely.  I cannot testify to the survival of Dr. Hebert or of Judge Tally.  The rest of us (Rev. Dr. Kendrick; Fra Richard and his ecumenical friend, Tom; Professor Thomas McKnight Steele; and little me) took out on Thursday, weary from the accumulated grime and from contending with the elements – it rained a lot – and the wild animals.  We let the skunk, “Priscilla,” go wherever and whenever she so pleased on her nightly visits: she was no problem.  It was the bear that caused the most commotion.  Whether this was the same who mauled your blue cooler last year or her heirs or assigns, I cannot say. She didn’t damage my cooler as she extracted my three pounds of exquisitely prepared spaghetti sauce, my canned Coke, and the squeezebottle of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.  She consumed everything except the blue freezer coolant packages and two cans of V-8.  Bryant and I, driven more by a need to urinate than to protect the cooler, assumed she would leave as readily as last year.  After all, the two irises reflected in my flashlight, while alarmingly far apart, were low and unto the ground.  Then she stood up, showing herself to be a little taller than I and better –muscled than even Bryant.  When she came back, nobody stirred.

The next day, several of those who had cowered in their tents questioned the accuracy of our description, perhaps being accustomed to fisherman’s estimates of size.  When the behemoth returned at 11:00 that night, popped the hatches on the bank of trashcans just across from us, and began dipping out the remains of Dr. Hebert’s Chicken Country Captain, all (except Steele, snugly oblivious on his air mattress in his new van) agreed that it was about six and a half feet tall and weighed in excess of three hundred pounds.  We agreed also that she was not the least intimidated by our squad of waggling flashlights or by our uncertain bravado.  Headlights didn’t bother her, nor did Tally’s horn.  After she had turned over the shoal of trashcans in a single motion and had exhausted our meager leavings, she did depart at the sound of Tally’s Jeep ignition.  She returned several hours later but did not eat any of us!  The Sensitive New Age Guys lived to fish another day…….

…….Tally also won the laurels of the Coleman stove.  His venison en brochette on Monday night set a new camp standard.  Alas, only the bear will know how m Bolognese sauce would have fared against it.  I have challenged Tally to try quail with white grapes over wild rice for next year.

We missed you and took your name in vain many times.  Start tying them flies for next year. Richard says nymphs are the ticket.

Hayes

Captain added one additional detail to the story.  It was the starting of the Jeep’s engine that spooked her when everything else had failed.  She ran off into the woods and your great Uncle Bryant carefully approached the garbage cans to make sure that she was gone.  Captain decided to honk his horn just for fun.  Bryant jumped five feet of the ground!!

Finish What You Start

Dear Boo and Bubble,

I want to apologize for not writing in such a long time.  It had nothing to do with neglect in thinking of you……I always am, as you are first and foremost on my mind.  In fact, I’ve been very busy focusing on writing of another sort.  Almost eight years ago, I started a novel.  The story has been rolling around in my head all that time, trying to force its way out like an acorn might do when it finds root in the ground.  My dedication to the process has waxed and waned depending on thrusts of inspiration or total creative dry spells.  However, I have persisted and it appears that I am only a few chapters away from finishing – at least the first book.  It will definitely need a sequel to fully tell the tale.

In rounding third base and heading for home on this project, it occurred to me what a valuable lesson I’ve learned in this endeavor – finish what you start, for in doing so, you will experience a sense of satisfaction unmatched by any beginning. 

There is a quote by Amit Kalantri that sums it up for me. “Beginning in itself has no value, it is an end which makes beginning meaningful, we must end what we have begun.”

Knowing this, the interesting thing is that we seem to always be about the beginning.  The burst of energy comes at the start of the race but the finish is slow-footed.  A hammer seems light to hold on the first nail but, by the last, is heavy to lift.  Perhaps the reason is that beginnings are spawned by inspiration while finishing requires discipline, a much more difficult trait to embrace.

Recently, Captain and I decided to remodel our kitchen.  We spent weeks in making decisions about cabinets, countertops, hardware, and appliances.  It took additional weeks for everything to be delivered.  We hired someone to demolish the old kitchen and install the new.  When the time came to start, there was great enthusiasm as cabinets were literally ripped from the walls and carried to the dumpster.  The energy sustained itself with every meticulous calculation of where replacements should go.  With the new cabinets in, it was time for the measurements for the granite countertops.  Another week went by and their delivery produced a new burst of gusto. 

But then, a strange thing happened.  With all of the major work done, it seemed that the hardest part to complete became the “finishing touches.”  I noticed a little place left uncovered by the trim at the base of the dishwasher; and a gap underneath where the granite rested on the divider wall between the dining area and the kitchen; and a small protrusion of old glue coming out from the new backsplash along the kitchen counter.  These were little things in the scheme of things, but for me they became a focal point.  Why have this amazing beginning if it’s not finished properly.

Captain, bless his heart, has channeled his inner carpenter to fix all of these testy details for me.  He has measured and cut tiny pieces of leftovers to fit into places attainable only by lying on the floor.  He has glued and clamped quarter-round trim in spots that defy gravity.  Above all, he has persevered until every little detail has been addressed.  And…..what a difference it makes.

Boys, I know it is tempting to always let other things interfere with what you’ve started to do – be it homework or cleaning your room or picking up toys out in the yard.  But, don’t let that happen.  Finish what you start.  Get in the habit.  It will be a lesson well learned as you grow in life.