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Sharing a Memorable Christmas

 

My most memorable and coldest Christmas was spent on guard duty as a young soldier in Thule, Greenland. I was only 400 miles from the North Pole but I never did get to see Santa’s sleigh or any Female Elves for that matter.

Standing in the cold, lonely shack staring at the bleak tundra for hours on end makes your mind do strange things. It kept wandering back to that little house back home in Pennsylvania where Mom was making her usual Christmas dinner. That special Christmas Day smell seemed to linger at my nose. For the first time ever I was not there and I really missed my family.

An arctic fox runs by and breaks my thoughts. Cute little devils, those foxes, friendly and looking for a Holiday handout.

I am back home again and my Grandma stops over like she always does (that’s when Grandmas lived next door). She always brought her special German homemade bread right out of the oven. The fun was stealing a hot bun before dinner and smothering it in butter.

The noise of the relief trucks wheels making that cold crunching sound on minus 30 degree snow brings me back to reality. The coffee is old, dark and thick but tastes great as I take a quick break in the truck cab and share the special bond that young soldiers away from home seem to have.

As the taillights disappear into the frigid distance I gather my thoughts and stare at the stars and God’s Northern lights in the crystal clear sky. Total and absolute silence remains. I think again of my family but realize that even though I am not home this Christmas is special. I have learned a lot about myself and that family, close friends and warm experiences are what life is all about.

My replacement arrives and I stare into youthful eyes almost totally covered by a furry parka. Merry Christmas I say…Merry Christmas he responds….

*A special note…….I wrote this story many years ago, but I must say,  I still get a little misty as I reminisce about those days when I was alone and so far away from home. But it seems that the more things change, the more they stay the same. This Christmas a young soldier will be standing guard and staring over a vast desert, not bleak cold tundra. This Christmas a young soldier will be brought  old dark coffee and share a special bond with a fellow soldier. This Christmas a young soldier will shed a private youthful tear as thoughts about his Mom and family back home permeate his soul.  This Christmas a young soldier will wish a fellow soldier Merry Christmas. This Christmas a young soldier will learn that family, close friends and warm experiences is what life is all about. Please remember them in your thoughts and prayers

 

My most memorable and coldest Christmas was spent on guard duty as a young soldier in Thule, Greenland. I was only 400 miles from the North Pole but I never did get to see Santa’s sleigh or any Female Elves for that matter.

Standing in the cold, lonely shack staring at the bleak tundra for hours on end makes your mind do strange things. It kept wandering back to that little house back home in Pennsylvania where Mom was making her usual Christmas dinner. That special Christmas Day smell seemed to linger at my nose. For the first time ever I was not there and I really missed my family.

An arctic fox runs by and breaks my thoughts. Cute little devils, those foxes, friendly and looking for a Holiday handout.

I am back home again and my Grandma stops over like she always does (that’s when Grandmas lived next door). She always brought her special German homemade bread right out of the oven. The fun was stealing a hot bun before dinner and smothering it in butter.

The noise of the relief trucks wheels making that cold crunching sound on minus 30 degree snow brings me back to reality. The coffee is old, dark and thick but tastes great as I take a quick break in the truck cab and share the special bond that young soldiers away from home seem to have.

As the taillights disappear into the frigid distance I gather my thoughts and stare at the stars and God’s Northern lights in the crystal clear sky. Total and absolute silence remains. I think again of my family but realize that even though I am not home this Christmas is special. I have learned a lot about myself and that family, close friends and warm experiences are what life is all about.

My replacement arrives and I stare into youthful eyes almost totally covered by a furry parka. Merry Christmas I say…Merry Christmas he responds….

*A special note…….I wrote this story many years ago, but I must say,  I still get a little misty as I reminisce about those days when I was alone and so far away from home. But it seems that the more things change, the more they stay the same. This Christmas a young soldier will be standing guard and staring over a vast desert, not bleak cold tundra. This Christmas a young soldier will be brought  old dark coffee and share a special bond with a fellow soldier. This Christmas a young soldier will shed a private youthful tear as thoughts about his Mom and family back home permeate his soul.  This Christmas a young soldier will wish a fellow soldier Merry Christmas. This Christmas a young soldier will learn that family, close friends and warm experiences is what life is all about. Please remember them in your thoughts and prayers

"Life After People"

Few TV series have captured my attention more than the History Channel's "Life After People". For those of you that have all but given up on TV broadcasting as a method to while away your evenings, let me provide a brief synopsis. The series provides us mortal humans with a futuristic glance at how our world would look like should all of us simply disappear, except that is, for animal life. Intellectuals from the scientific field as well as engineering, botany and geology gathered around their respective computers and with the help of the History Channels computer graphic gurus show our respective worlds simply deteriorate right before our very eyes.

Now any other time I would simply watch because I felt like being a couch potato and dismiss the whole lot as passing fantasy. But as the critters and foliage of the world inhabited what humans had savored for themselves, it struck within me a weird sort of sensitive chord. A walk outside during one of the commercial breaks brought my unique world into simplistic view....a world that had changed dramatically and drastically in the last twelve months. Due to what I have often called Daufuskie Island's version of "The Perfect Storm", "Daufuskie Island Clubs demise and a living version of the USA's "Great Depression",   I found myself peering out at at the entire front nine of the Bloody Point Golf Course without a soul in sight. Once bustling with well heeled humans chasing around and hitting a little white ball with a stick, all that remained was nature in its purist and most basic form....and yes, the ravages of only one years time were surely taking their toll.

At first blush, my natural instinct was to feel seriously disturbed and sorry for what is literally and figuratively my back yard. I have walked Bloody Points fairways when they were at their "pinnacle'", when "caddies only" were the rule of the day and where the sign of a lowly weed making its presence known was treated with disgust. But after spending the last few months strolling alone amidst towering lob-lolly pines and ancient live oak trees and  listening to the winds softly whisper to me through their boughs I knew they were at peace.  The land revered by the Yemassee Indians had been given, by the selfishness of humans, a second chance, a unique short reprieve...if you will...to return to what it was. Nature without human intervention was gloriously returning. Thousands upon thousands of white ibis, wood storks and pied billed grebes make the lagoon along the sixth fairway their rookery. Ponds with their silky black waters cleared of chemicals spring to life with glorious bright green algaes and tall brown topped cattails. Birds of every persuasion sing their melodies and the symbol of America glides and circles gracefully as if to oversee and approve.

But unlike the History Channel, the compositions on film will not prevail. Soon, and with the Heavens  ultimate approval, Bloody Point will once again return to what its position in the earth's grand cycle should be, a truly wonderful and unique golf course. Mortal humans will traverse the fairways and putt  its manicured greens. But make no mistake, in the vastness of time, Bloody Point will once again with the blessings of the Yemassee's return to "Life After People".

Crossing The Sweet Waters Of Calibogue Sound

It's 7:15 AM .....Waves crash over the bow of the Palmetto Peddler and Captain Richard is kind enough to pour me a hot fresh paper cup of boat coffee. My Bride, securely situated in the passenger lounge breaks out her newest  Dean Koontz novel and I make my way to the open upper deck. The early December air feels unusually fresh and brisk as I make my way aft.  Stiff winds out of the North forecast tonight's Nor-Easter and I gaze over the choppy waters. Taking in the awe inspiring crisp beauty that the Sea Gods and Mother Nature have offered without giving nothing in return seems sacrilegious, so I look to the heavens for inspiration. Opening my arms and extending my hands to the crystal clear blue sky, I reach out from my spiritual  inner self and offer my thanks for giving me this opportunity to be truly blessed. Yes, blessed at the opportunity to begin another day over the sweet waters of Calibogue Sound.

Now my plans were to pontificate further about our somewhat precarious docking at Salty Fare Marina and my enlightening conversation with a Canadian couple over a McDonald's "senior coffee". But something deep inside seems to entice me to end this oratory and disregard my Acer's blinking light edging my anxious fingers on. Strange as it seems,  the new age music streaming from overhead speakers full of light flute melodies draw me back to Calibogue Sound,  a body of water I have crossed hundreds of times before. A body of water the Yemassee Indian tribe called "sweet water". A body of water revered and worshiped by shamans.  A body of water that inspired Pat Conroy in his epic novel "The Water is Wide". A body of water that soon will show its ornery side,  tossing and churning in gale force winds. A body of water that each day offers up to all that cross the opportunity to begin to understand the true meaning of life. A body of water that seems to say "gaze over my sweet waters, let my spiritual energy enter your soul, let me help you understand".