Asmodeus
10-16-2004, 06:44 AM
This is a re-post. It was lost in the shuffel to the new format. I thought I would re-post it. I think it gives a perspective we all need from time to time.
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Dirt Roads
How many have noticed that the true places to see, are on dirt roads? Just as the lessons truly learned, and those that come from the heart originate on those same dirt roads?
The driving on dirt roads, the bumps and mud and dust and animals just seems the right thing to do. To drive slowly, mindful of the dirt and dust that comes in through the windows which you of course have to leave down. Taking a drink from the beer your dad or grandfather popped the top of and is handing over to you as you both just drive down the old haunts to a fishing hole or just to take a drive because there are no football or baseball games on TV.
I remember many a time when I was with my grandfather on dirt roads. I went with him to check cattle or make a beer run, or go fishing, or wherever. But, we always went via dirt roads. I think there was a message there he was trying to tell me but did not have the words for.
That nowhere in this life will you get to that can take away the fact that you are who you are and that you came from dirt road stock; that dirt roads are a part of me just as they were a part of him. Being able to take off on a dirt road to somewhere makes no never mind. But, being able to take one is what is all needed.
I think in his mind dirt roads symbolized the values modern society has left behind. Dirt roads were, and still are, the backbone of what we once were- farmers, ranchers, and cowboys who worked the land for what they got. The kind of people who played hard but worked harder and earned every cent they had. The kind of people who were satisfied with a hot cup of coffee in the morning and watching the sun come up because that in itself symbolized the start of a new day- one bright with promise. Just as they were satisfied with a job well done, easing into a favorite rocker or hammock, having a cool glass of lemonade and watching the sunset from their back porch.
I really think he had all of this in his mind but he had no way of expressing it. Nor, had I the patience to listen to that kind of talk at the time. Youth does have its shortcomings. I loved the man like no other. I just wish I had had more wisdom and patience to listen to his wisdom when he was here.
But, now that he is gone, I find myself remembering all the little things he did. Just the little things, a certain comment in a certain situation to slide things over when a fight was eminent, a word or two in the morning that would get you out of bed and make you want to see the sun come up because of what it meant to him. That particular turn of phrase, or twitch of the eyebrows that would make a bad joke humorous. Know what I mean?
The dirt roads in my life will stay with me forever, wherever I go or how far I travel. They will have a special place in my heart.
On my road trips and travels, I try to spend as much as I can of them on dirt roads, to remind myself what it is like to travel by them- not hurrying and scurrying around driving like your pants are on fire. Just the lazy, slow, meandering crawl that just seems to sooth my aching and troubled mind.
To just take a drive along those old haunts eases me. It reminds me of all the good times I had as a youngster on those roads. Just to get off the highways, to be able to drive along at 20 miles per hour instead of the hectic 70, enables me to relax. I find, of late, I have so little time to do that; relax.
I believe we all need some of that now in this modern world. To just slow down our pace a bit, take a deep breath of fresh, country air, and let all our worries take a rest and remember what it was like when we were kids. When we had no worries in the world except to make it home in time for dinner. It is a remembrance to the slower days of our youth and of our country‘s past.
It is the slowness and sureness of the dirt roads I find I like the best, as well as what I think my grandfather did as well. There is no hurry on dirt roads. If you do you will more than likely run off the road and kill yourself. There is just the slow and lazy pace that will get you to where you are going in just the right time. No worries, no embarrassment, no sense of time, just the sure way of travel.
I drove almost the entire way to Wyoming from Texas for a particular job many years ago, on dirt, farm roads. Dodging combiners, tractors, 18 wheelers, and farm trucks, and having everyone wave at me just as I waved back at them.
I think that was also a part of what my grandfather was trying to say to me. That the people you meet on a dirt road will wave at you and offer you a beer at the local bar, just because they saw you on that dirt road. There is a friendliness involved in the dirt road life that pervades everything. People who live or lived on them know this. It is the knowing that there are people down the road that will help in any way they can and not expect anything in return. Because they also know that you will in turn come to help them when they are in need.
I have helped build many a barn, farmhouse, shed, out-house, you name it, because they were neighbors of my grandparents. We have chewed the same mud, stirred the same dirt, and ate the same insults from those in the cities. I came from there and that is what you do on dirt roads- you help each other out.
So, go out, find a dirt road or one you yourself and your father or grandfather once took. Drive to the old places that have just been faint memories in the back of your mind. Go out and remember all the joys you had as a youngster, the trials as a teenager, and the loves and losses as an adult. For on those dirt roads lies the truth as to what you were and still are.
To me, I am the farmer’s and rancher‘s grandson, removed by fate and a father that did not want his son to live that kind of life.
Those dirt roads, to me, are a way to get back to what I once was, a bright eyed little tyke, wondering what the world was really like and curious to see it all, as well as a way for me to take back all that I have lost being out in that big world seeing it for what it really is.
To breath in that air of age, spirit, and growth renews me like nothing else. It takes me back to a past I sometimes forget I had.
For that, Delbert Dan Johnson, whom we all called GranDan, I thank you. More than I could have ever said when you were here.
Thank you.
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Dirt Roads
How many have noticed that the true places to see, are on dirt roads? Just as the lessons truly learned, and those that come from the heart originate on those same dirt roads?
The driving on dirt roads, the bumps and mud and dust and animals just seems the right thing to do. To drive slowly, mindful of the dirt and dust that comes in through the windows which you of course have to leave down. Taking a drink from the beer your dad or grandfather popped the top of and is handing over to you as you both just drive down the old haunts to a fishing hole or just to take a drive because there are no football or baseball games on TV.
I remember many a time when I was with my grandfather on dirt roads. I went with him to check cattle or make a beer run, or go fishing, or wherever. But, we always went via dirt roads. I think there was a message there he was trying to tell me but did not have the words for.
That nowhere in this life will you get to that can take away the fact that you are who you are and that you came from dirt road stock; that dirt roads are a part of me just as they were a part of him. Being able to take off on a dirt road to somewhere makes no never mind. But, being able to take one is what is all needed.
I think in his mind dirt roads symbolized the values modern society has left behind. Dirt roads were, and still are, the backbone of what we once were- farmers, ranchers, and cowboys who worked the land for what they got. The kind of people who played hard but worked harder and earned every cent they had. The kind of people who were satisfied with a hot cup of coffee in the morning and watching the sun come up because that in itself symbolized the start of a new day- one bright with promise. Just as they were satisfied with a job well done, easing into a favorite rocker or hammock, having a cool glass of lemonade and watching the sunset from their back porch.
I really think he had all of this in his mind but he had no way of expressing it. Nor, had I the patience to listen to that kind of talk at the time. Youth does have its shortcomings. I loved the man like no other. I just wish I had had more wisdom and patience to listen to his wisdom when he was here.
But, now that he is gone, I find myself remembering all the little things he did. Just the little things, a certain comment in a certain situation to slide things over when a fight was eminent, a word or two in the morning that would get you out of bed and make you want to see the sun come up because of what it meant to him. That particular turn of phrase, or twitch of the eyebrows that would make a bad joke humorous. Know what I mean?
The dirt roads in my life will stay with me forever, wherever I go or how far I travel. They will have a special place in my heart.
On my road trips and travels, I try to spend as much as I can of them on dirt roads, to remind myself what it is like to travel by them- not hurrying and scurrying around driving like your pants are on fire. Just the lazy, slow, meandering crawl that just seems to sooth my aching and troubled mind.
To just take a drive along those old haunts eases me. It reminds me of all the good times I had as a youngster on those roads. Just to get off the highways, to be able to drive along at 20 miles per hour instead of the hectic 70, enables me to relax. I find, of late, I have so little time to do that; relax.
I believe we all need some of that now in this modern world. To just slow down our pace a bit, take a deep breath of fresh, country air, and let all our worries take a rest and remember what it was like when we were kids. When we had no worries in the world except to make it home in time for dinner. It is a remembrance to the slower days of our youth and of our country‘s past.
It is the slowness and sureness of the dirt roads I find I like the best, as well as what I think my grandfather did as well. There is no hurry on dirt roads. If you do you will more than likely run off the road and kill yourself. There is just the slow and lazy pace that will get you to where you are going in just the right time. No worries, no embarrassment, no sense of time, just the sure way of travel.
I drove almost the entire way to Wyoming from Texas for a particular job many years ago, on dirt, farm roads. Dodging combiners, tractors, 18 wheelers, and farm trucks, and having everyone wave at me just as I waved back at them.
I think that was also a part of what my grandfather was trying to say to me. That the people you meet on a dirt road will wave at you and offer you a beer at the local bar, just because they saw you on that dirt road. There is a friendliness involved in the dirt road life that pervades everything. People who live or lived on them know this. It is the knowing that there are people down the road that will help in any way they can and not expect anything in return. Because they also know that you will in turn come to help them when they are in need.
I have helped build many a barn, farmhouse, shed, out-house, you name it, because they were neighbors of my grandparents. We have chewed the same mud, stirred the same dirt, and ate the same insults from those in the cities. I came from there and that is what you do on dirt roads- you help each other out.
So, go out, find a dirt road or one you yourself and your father or grandfather once took. Drive to the old places that have just been faint memories in the back of your mind. Go out and remember all the joys you had as a youngster, the trials as a teenager, and the loves and losses as an adult. For on those dirt roads lies the truth as to what you were and still are.
To me, I am the farmer’s and rancher‘s grandson, removed by fate and a father that did not want his son to live that kind of life.
Those dirt roads, to me, are a way to get back to what I once was, a bright eyed little tyke, wondering what the world was really like and curious to see it all, as well as a way for me to take back all that I have lost being out in that big world seeing it for what it really is.
To breath in that air of age, spirit, and growth renews me like nothing else. It takes me back to a past I sometimes forget I had.
For that, Delbert Dan Johnson, whom we all called GranDan, I thank you. More than I could have ever said when you were here.
Thank you.