“Sustained winds of 50 miles per hour
and higher,” blared the radio.
My wife was listening to the radio.
She has a love-hate relationship with our Minnesota weather. This has
turned her into a bit of a weather junkie. She finds our weather both
intriguing and frightening. Her feelings are not unlike those of a child
watching a particularly scary horror movie—nearly scared to death, yet
seldom feeling so alive.
I found myself staring out the
window. Lightning filled the sky and rumbling thunder shook the house.
Rain began to fall. The trees were bending in the strong wind. However, it
was none of these things that was commanding my attention. It was a little
blue and white bird that I could not take my eyes off of. I was looking at a
Tree Swallow—a small bird that nests in an old bluebird box in our rural
yard. The tiny swallow, weighing at most three-quarters of an ounce, was
hanging on with dear life to a small branch of a tree. Its mate was sitting
on eggs inside the nest cavity. The wind blew harder and harder, almost as
though it was determined to shake the tiny bird free from its perch. The
bird’s plight caused me to reflect on the trials of a friend.
When my friend Keith broke his leg,
he felt that it was the last straw. Keith, a farmer all of his life, had
been suffering from leukemia for a year and a half, and a bone marrow
transplant had produced disappointing results. The leukemia had gone into
remission, but the bone marrow hadn’t started reproducing as everyone had
hoped. Things just hadn’t been working out. Keith was pulling a wagon with
a four-wheeler when a freak accident happened, breaking his leg. It was one
of those cases where just as you think that things can’t possibly get any
worse, they get worse. Keith found himself laid up and with 160 acres of
beans in the fields that needed harvesting. It looked as if his wife and
his 82-year-old father would have to try to harvest the beans.
Things were looking bad. Then a miracle happened. The miracle came in the
form of good neighbors. In the spirit of good Samaritans, two neighbors
organized five volunteer crews. Trucks and combines poured into Keith’s
fields and made short work of the harvest. In less than three hours,
Keith’s fields were bean-free. The project took longer to plan than to
do.
I believe that neighbors are meant to help neighbors. I once tried to talk
my father into buying a neighbor’s farm. The neighbor wasn’t much of a
farmer and really didn’t tend to his business. Besides, we could have used
a little extra land. I will never forget my father’s answer to one of my
pleas. It was one of those responses that comes with its very own life’s
lesson. He told me that he would rather have the neighbor than the
neighbor’s land. At the time, I thought he was terribly old-fashioned and
had let his feelings get in the way of good business sense. Watching the
neighboring farmers harvest Keith’s beans made me realize how right my
father was. I felt good watching so many people get together to help a
neighbor who was down on is luck. I knew that Keith would reciprocate if
given the chance.
A fundraiser was organized for Keith and many people worked and donated to a
worthy cause. A meal was served to an overflowing crowd at the local
school. As I remembered these events, my thoughts and prayers were with
Keith. I hoped for his rapid and complete recovery.
My thoughts left Keith and his bean harvest when I heard a loud crack,
followed by a deafening crash. The fierce wind had blown down a large tree
that had been standing forever and a day in our yard. I looked at the
fallen tree with a touch of sadness. I could plant another tree and I
would, but I would never see one of the same size in its place.
Then I remembered the Tree Swallow.
My eyes sought the bird. I looked at the branch and saw that the small bird
was still hanging on despite the heavy wind, the thunder, the lightning, the
rain and the falling tree.
My spirit soared because I knew, as one is allowed to know these things that
my friend Keith was going to be all right.
©Al Batt 2001
71622 325 St.
Hartland, MN
56042
SnoEowl@aol.com |
