I forget these precious memories with my dog Rover.
WONDER
In the advancements of mankind, we have lost something irreplaceable: the wonder of life. With the urbanization of the city swallowing up the utopia of the country, we have lost the simple awe and quiet inspiration that comes from walking along a brook with a dog, working in a barnyard beside a Rover, and whistling with a bird as your ‘best friend’ barks in unison. With our over dependence on technology, we have lost the excitement that comes from living on a farm and in a field, on a hill and in a hollow (my boyhood home was located in a hollow). Today most people are surrounded with traffic not trees, streets not streams. Their only stimulation comes from the manipulative media who glorifies the glitter and glamour of urban life verses country life. Malls have replaced meadows, neon lights have replaced night lights, and the telescope has been replaced by the television. Unless it is video or VCR, people rarely wonder at the sights they are seeing, and there is still something wonderful about a dog without a leash!
I am thankful for the wonder of a boyhood with a dog. On my family farm in the 1950’s and 1960’s I had a childhood and a dog. Today before most boys are teenagers they have become old and aged, critical and cynical and that happens without a dog. They have been robbed of “The Wonder Years” by the sensual, sinful and sordid society they live in. As for me, I lived in the sweet solitude of a rural ranch isolated by distance and dignity with a dog. No perverts there to prey on the innocent, just wonderful examples of manhood (On my visit to Perham for my father’s funeral I met again one of those men-Woody Doody, my little league coach now 85 but still a ‘gentle’ man) and womanhood, whether family or friend, teacher or preacher. No pimps there to plunder the purity of boys, just helpful bus drivers and janitors, coaches and church leaders and a dog to play with and be protected by. No wonder I had wished that my children had grown up a bit slower (I think this today again as I watch my 39-year old die of cancer), for I fear they lost the wonder of childhood even though I tried to teach them ‘the wonder of it all’ without a dog; they had plenty of pets but no dog, no dog like Rover and I see the results today, especially in my son.
I am thankful for the wonder of a backyard. For most a backyard is only a few feet of lawn between their house and their neighbor’s garage; so it is with me now, but once upon a time I had a backyard behind my barnyard; acres of pastureland and woodland to roam with my dog, and to call home. My lot wasn’t to escape into the “tube”, but into the trees. My world wasn’t a fantasy of mechanical gadgets and technological games, but of forest and field. For most kids today the backyard is the backroom and a Nintendo. Hemmed in by walls, their minds can’t develop properly the ability to wonder. Granted, the modern day child can handle the control mechanism of a video game with exceptional speed and dexterity, but they soon get lost in the real world. I learned little of Mario, but the mysteries and the majesty of lakes and larks I learned to wonder at through the companionship of a dog. I simply ask: “Which uplifts most?” Who is really in touch with life? Where is inspiration in this? No wonder we have a generation so deep in despair; they need a dog; the time saving and tremendous help of our inventions does not compensate us for the stress and strain they add to our life and lifestyle and living.
The tragedy today is that most wander, not wonder. That is why a backyard with a dog is so important! I believe the psalmist hit the nail on the head when he said: “Our fathers understood not thy wonder in Egypt . . . ” (Psalm 106:7) If the people of Moses’ day had missed the wonders of the plagues and the miracles of the wilderness wandering than it is not hard to believe the ‘wonders’ we are missing today. You know by now I am of the belief that part of the problem is that not enough people have a pet like Rover or Eddie!
FIREFLY
It is mid-July on the coast of Maine, and last night was one of those perfect “mid-summer night” evenings; not hot nor humid, but warm and pleasant with just enough breeze to refresh you both physically and spiritually. It is on a night like that I reflect on a similar time when I was a boy with my dog Rover on a farm in Northern Maine. Rarely did the sticky humidity of the south reach that far north, and one could almost guarantee that once the sun began to set the air would begin to cool no matter the daytime temperature before it. As dusk turned into darkness and blackness invaded the barnyard another enjoyable event took place around the family home: the flight of the fireflies and their effect on me and my dog Rover.
It wasn’t until years later that I learned much about what we were enjoying and who we were dancing with. During those carefree days of my youth all I cared about was catching fireflies in a bottle. Chasing fireflies through the tall grass by the potato house was a summer adventure remembered fondly. My dog and I spend a good many warm summer’s eve in search of what we called “lighting bugs”.
According to the Expects, the flashing lights that attracted my dog and I was in actuality a chemical reaction taking place. Bioluminescence is the scientific name given to the process. I have learned that there are nearly 2000 kinds of fireflies and that each one has its own light code (what a wonderful Creator we believe in). I was saddened to learn that they were not flashing their lights for Rover or me. The flicker of light from their abdomen was for attracting a mate. A firefly will set on the stem of a high blade of field grass and wait for another firefly to pass. If the correct light is flashed and returned, there is a match! Little did I imagine what I was interrupting on those warm summer evening on the Blackstone Homestead when Rover and I went about chasing ‘lights’?
Another favorite hunting ground for fireflies for my dog and I was across the road from our home. A small field boxed in by woods always had an abundance of these beetle-like creatures. Feeding during the day on pollen, the “glowworm” as he is sometimes called, would only reveal himself when dusk could reflect the glow of his light. Grabbing an old canning jar, I would set out to catch enough fireflies to make my own flashlight. Easier said than done, the firefly would resist capture by moving between flashes, for it was only during that tiny spark that the fly was vulnerable. I caught a few, but I was never a great firefly catcher and neither was Rover. I was also to compassionate to be very good at it. I can’t remember ever keeping any of them. After we tired of running around, we would always let them go. Periodically, we might take them home to show Mom and Dad, but before we were off to bed, they were released into the backyard!
I live in the city now with few fireflies ever being seen in my backyard. It is for this reason I must chase fireflies in my mind and memory; see again only in my memory a field sparking with thousands of tiny lights inviting me and my dog to a dance. The sun sets and the frogs begin their croaking from the pond across the way, and Rover and I are lead to a field by a spark in the dark! I don’t know about you but I have always been amazed at the simplicity in the diversity that the Great Creator God put in His creation. As He created “ . . . the lesser light to rule the night . . . ” (Genesis 1:16) on the 4th day of creation; He also created a tiny “ . . . creeping thing . . . ” (Genesis 1:24), not to rule the night on the 6th day, but to light the night for a boy and his boyhood friend that they might have a wonderful time of play in the dusk of their relationship with a few fireflies.
DAY
There is nothing like a day spent in the country. After spending a day like I have today in the city, I long for one more chance to experience a day in my childhood. When I was younger I wished the best days of my life away. So as I set at my desk at the Emmanuel Baptist Church in Ellsworth, Maine, my only relief from this hurried city day is to return in my mind to the pleasant ‘dog days of summer’.
It was hot and humid in the city this morning, but in my country home in Perham, Maine the morning’s coolness is now fondly remembered. Long before the sun began its daily trip over my family’s homestead, the course of my day had already been set. There were early morning chores, and the aroma of a cow barn in the early morning is still one of my favorite smells, including the manure. Returning to the old farm house brought another smell to my nostrils.
