In Ordered Rows

In Ordered Rows

 

By John W. Vander Velden              

 

In March of 2007 I found myself in a place I never thought I would be standing.  I scanned the perfectly manicured rolling green lawn and the ordered rows of modest stones, in the morning’s sun beneath crystal blue skies.  My mind emptied a moment, overwhelmed by the sight of Arlington National Cemetery.  For I knew that each of those white stones represented…someone.  Deep within me my heart ached at the unmeasurable loss.  The price willingly paid by so many.   

But those ordered stones in Northern Virginia are just a fraction of the stones across our nation and even abroad.  Solemn stones that speak of freedom’s price.  For those things, we so easily take for granted, were purchased by the brave that laid down their all.  But these ordered stones represent others as well.  For none of those bones that rest beneath that green lawn lived in a vacuum.  Each was someone’s child, many were parents themselves.  All had those that knew and loved them…sisters…brothers…wives…dear friends.  The markers speak of a larger community that sacrificed so much.   

We must not forget all that the ordered stones that row by row stand day and night in formation represent, all those that have paid the ultimate price that an imperfect world demands. We must not forget those we knew those that paid the price.  We must never ignore all the others that stood to protect us.  We must remember all the changed lives…aching hearts…homes less filled. 

How much do we owe those, whose names are carved in stone?  How much do we owe those in the shadows, who were forced to live on with shattered lives?  Can one day a year be sufficient?  Does the flag at mid-mast speak loudly enough?  Should we not live our lives as a testament to the sacrifice?  Should not this land, by its purpose, reflect the courage shown…the blood let…the lives changed? 

But looking across Arlington I understood…The price paid has been high.  The debt is owed.  And I pray for real peace.  That the day may come when there will be no need to add stones in ordered rows.

 

(364 Words)    5-25-2016

Half-Mast

 Half-Mast                      

By John W. Vander Velden

 

It stands at half-mast in the morning sun.  Stripes reminding of blood lost, of sacrifice given…and we remember. 

In a perfect world there would be no need, but the world, man has made, is less than flawless.  So much carried upon the shoulders of brave yet ordinary men and women…for they had parents…spouses…children…friends.  Names we may know…perhaps familiar faces.

Tears shed among the stones…reminders on a grassy field…and we remember.

Honor may be given, yet hearts shattered.  Lives forever altered by the absence of heroes.  Those that remain show brave faces, yet unable to hide trembling hands.  Words well-spoken does not replace the silence that fills their lives.  Generations pass and yet the price must be paid.  We pray the blood not spilled in vain.

Tomorrow the world, for most, may return to what seems normal.  But today let us not forget the cost…a high cost.  For freedom does not come without price and so much of what we take for granted has been paid by others.

The sun shines in a blue sky and the flag stands at half-mast…and we remember.

(191 Words)

New Green                     

 

By John W. Vander Velden

 

     I am reminded, with the fresh new leaves that show themselves first in early May that spring has come.  Mom told how “new green” was her favorite…her favorite color…her favorite time of the year.  Strange how so many decades as I toiled to prepare for another crop, carrying unending demands, immense responsibilities, I never noticed…really.  Spring came and with it the race I ran, a race with too few days, containing too few hours.  I drove myself, focused but unseeing.

     But the long race and past’s burdens, has left its mark.  Youth’s stamina has abandoned and in its place just a few moments to, as I catch my breath, see some of what was overlooked before.  Weary bones and aching muscles remind me of my mortality.  This old horse ain’t what he was.  But that’s alright.  It is probably too much to ask GOD for another thirty years.  But whether HE gives me thirty years or thirty minutes I should not squander a one.  But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t take the time to walk the spring woods, whisper to the violets that sprinkle the ground with their blossoms.  It doesn’t mean that I should not whistle back to the cardinal that calls to me from the treetops.  It does not mean I should not fill my lungs with the fragrance of lilacs or allow the warm spring breeze to muss my hair.  Life is a gift an adventure of many facets.  I will force myself to be content with past’s accomplishments, accepting my failings as well as victories.  But I remain excited about tomorrow…and all the tomorrows that lie before me, be they one or twenty thousand.  And I will take the time to notice the “new green”, and I expect it will be my favorite as well….  

 

5-16-2016 (302 Words)

 

Plodding Along

Plodding Along

 

By John W. Vander Velden              

 

The weather reminds that few things are within my control.  Forever and always farming is bound to nature’s whims.  And so once again I face “the best laid plans of mice and men” laid wastes as I watch meteorological events that today are unwanted.  Fields need to be tilled friends and wet soil can’t.   

But the sun rose once again this morning and for that I am grateful. Plans are made; they seem made to be changed.  Which is the point of this post…to remind myself, and others, that life is always in a state of flux. None of us knows, exactly, what lies ahead.  It is good to be prepared but we…I…must never forget things do not often go as hoped.  Life is like that.   

Important to remember that opportunities come, and to make the best of them when they do.  To remember that, other than 1996, I always managed to put in a crop.  And even that year something’s got planted.  My words have gone back to farming again…I guess I’ve got a bit of dirt in my blood.  Hey, it’s my point of reference.   A friend told me, “It is what it is.”  That’s true but I don’t have to like it, do I?  But the truth is, I should!   

I should face what comes, not as an obstacle preventing success, but as a challenge that can be overcome. A challenge providing new insights and adventures.  Instead of feeling that I am merely plodding along I should grit my teeth and look for solutions to this new adventure I face.  It ain’t easy folks!  But it’s not impossible either. 

It is important to remember that there are things I can do and things I cannot.  To understand the difference, and to accept my place in the mix.  If a person does what he can, he should not feel responsible for what he cannot.  That is the real crux of it.  To realize my limitations do not mean failure.  To see that all the planning and good intentions in the world does not mean things will work out as I expect.  But if I really do all that I can…well, sleep should come with a clear conscious…I did say should.  But regrets are part of any situation, as are second guesses and a slew of what ifs.  It is part of being human and humble, being human and holding myself to impossible standards. 

Time is a teacher, and though many years have passed, it seems I am not the best student.  So as I watch drenched soil and wonder…how, I need to draw a breath and tell myself…it’ll get done! 

(448 Words)  5-14-2016

 

 

 

Within the Hard Shell

Within the Hard Shell

By John W. Vander Velden

There are those days that seem extra special.  Days when we are driven to consider important things.  Mother’s Day causes us to think about the people that helped mold us in to the individuals we have become.  Though there is that underlying portion of us which we inherit…it’s in our genes, doesn’t environment have its affect.  And isn’t, it when we are at our youngest, those effects are most pronounced. 

My childhood home was not like yours...and yours was like none other.  Yet home was the evolving place where I spent those important years and with the people that shaped me most.  Though we were a farm family and dad was generally in sight and I found myself surrounded by siblings, mom surely had the greatest influence on us those years.  My parents brought so much of their culture across the sea, but it was through my mother’s actions so much of their history was revealed.  The woman always busy caring for home and family, surely had a share of teaching the work ethic we carry…I carry.  The world I saw those early years was shaped by someone that did her best to shield us.  Much of the darkness, the hate, and the prejudice existed in some place held far beyond our doors and windows of our lives.

Many would consider her just a simple woman, doing her best to live in a world that grew more complex.   The hard shell she showed the world, hid life’s pain and disappointments from even the closest eyes, a sensitivity kept locked away out of sight.  Few took the effort to see beyond the hard exterior they saw first.  And we, her children, felt too busy to notice.

Perhaps one day a year is enough reverence for the woman that bore me, but it seems inadequate as I consider this person that had such a profound influence on my life.  So I offer these few words, an offering insufficient, to remember and to honor one of the most important people I have known…a person within the hard shell…mom.

(349 Words)  5-6-2016

 

 

When He Closed His Eyes

When He Closed His Eyes

                                   

By John W. Vander Velden

 

On days like this one, when he closed his eyes he could see every detail.  The curve of her face, the softness of her chin, the set of her eyes.  Most often Richard saw her in the kitchen.  A simple space of old steel cupboards and Spartan furnishings.  The table top and vinyl covered chairs, red, contrasted the white tin cupboard doors and beige flooring. Most times he came home; she would be in that room.  It seemed the largest part of her universe.  No matter if she was cooking, cleaning or if the sewing machine could be heard clattering along, she would look up as Richard entered.  The smile said what words could never express.  He would speak of his day…never asking about hers.  Quietly she listened, her eyes gleaming as she patiently devoured his ramblings.  Richard could also see her, as toiling she coaxed a small space of earth to yield.  Yes, food, vegetables of all sorts, but also blooms large and small, flowers of yellow, red and purple. Nameless plants to him but strong images he could never forget.  A simple woman to others, but Richard knew better.  And though most might think that the many years that had parted, a severing complete, Richard understood.  The thread may have stretched, by distance and time, yet could never be fully broken.  No, when he closed his eyes he could see…hear…feel…his mother.

 

(244 Words)    5-6-2012