Today we began what is to be known as “The Great Experiment.” Or, according to our youngest, “The Very Bored Experiment.”
It started at lunch. We began a discussion at the dinner table about what our life would be like without electricity – no TV, no video games, no lights, no microwave, no computer, no electronics of any kind. What would we do?
So, we decided to try it for one week and see what happened. We spent quite a bit of time discussing the “rules” of our experiment. We decided that there was really no way to go completely cold turkey – there are some things where the old technology simply does not exist in our home anymore or things that would make our lives unnecessarily difficult (i.e. cooking on the stove, typing, researching, task lighting). But there are other electronic things that simply serve as life clutter (i.e. electronic games, TV and lighting for the purpose of turning night into day.) We did, also, decide that music is allowed in any of its electronic forms because music feeds the soul.
At first, the boys were pretty excited. We got home and changed and began our normal routines. Mine – watching a little TV while my husband naps – was slightly disrupted, but not horribly. I visited the library and had some quiet time on the couch while the boys played outside with their toys. But after an hour or so of that, they were back inside.
“Mom, I’m bored,” said the seven-year-old slumping in the chair across from me. The ten-year-old, meanwhile, sat head first in the other chair performing a perfect, suspended somersault with his rear and sock feet out for the world to see.
“Well,” I said seriously, “I can think of something for you both to do.”
“What?” they said.
“Your homework.”
I also made a new rule. This rule was that anyone who said they were bored would be given a chore that they would have to perform. I asked them to confirm that they had heard me.
“I never said I was bored, mom,” the rear and socks clarified quickly.
And then they disappeared. Ha-ha! Peace in the living room again.
Things got interesting as dinner approached. We took our food and homework to the patio because we discovered that the house is actually darker inside than it is outside in the evening. We ate and talked and finished homework and then picked up our dishes and put them away in the candlelit kitchen.
After that, we retired to the living room and listened to our youngest practice the piano by lantern light. My husband actually got out the guitar and joined him in playing “Ring Around the Rosy.” Following the performance, my oldest and I played “spell and catch” with his spelling words while the youngest and dad did a little cleaning and organizing. After that we all gathered in the living room to read, draw and write.
As this evening draws to a close, I will say that I am enjoying the ambiance created by the candles and lantern light. And I am REALLY enjoying the silence punctuated only by the waterfall in the backyard, the frogs, the cricket and the occasional distant vehicle noise that seeps through the trees of our quiet, little cul-de-sac.
To be continued….
September 21, 2008
Unofficial Report of the 37th Annual Walnut Valley Festival
What is it about good writing – really good writing – put to music and sung for all to hear that puts me in a pensive state of mind?
This is, after all why I go to the festival. For me, the festival is not about the music – although that is undeniably an important element. No, for me, the festival is about the weaving of stories – the passing of truths through poetry and verse.
My youngest son shares this love of the Festival with me, although I am yet to discover what he enjoys the most. If close observation renders any hints, it is the food, the organization of the schedule and the music – not necessarily in that order. He likes his music fast and energetic – a speed to which Bluegrass and Irish reels certainly cater. He spent hours reading and re-reading the schedule for names he knew and checking out the Festival map for the placement of the stages and the bathrooms. Finally, he spent an annoying amount of time marking the hours until it was time to purchase a funnel cake.
No matter what our motivations for attending, we both agree that the main reason to attend is, and always will be, Tom Chapin and Michael Mark. Tom, like his brother Harry, is a master at storytelling. He also just happens to be a Grammy winning children’s songwriter. When Tom and Michael pair up with John McCutcheon – another master at telling stories – it is pure magic.
This year, the song that hit me was called “Doing My Job” written by John McCutcheon. This song was written during the 1995 Festival shortly after Cal Ripken Jr’s record-breaking stretch of 2,131 consecutive games on September 6, 1995. John sang it at this year’s Festival during the show that Tom and John always perform together on Saturday afternoon. They were singing songs from their collaborative album entitled, “Doing Our Job.”
The song goes like this:
It was one for the ages, one you just had to see.
So we sat on the sofa, my two kids and I and we watched on TV.
It was in the fifth inning, the game had to be stopped.
The whole ballpark went nuts when the number was dropped.
My kids they clapped and they hollered. Me, I choked up with tears
Thinking back on the grace he brought to that place for over thirteen years.
And as he stood in the spotlight, he looked so awkward and shy
When they asked him to say a few words on that day, this was his reply.
Chorus:
“I’m only doing my job like folks everywhere.
Where I come from, it’s just how things are done, doing my share.
I did not love every part, still I don’t think it odd.
Give your best and to hell with the rest, doing my job.”
I’ve heard that song many times before at previous festivals. But this year, it reached out and grabbed hold of me like never before. And this, my friends, is what makes a good song great. This is why I keep shelves full of stories that I have read and enjoyed many times. This is why verses in the Bible continue to inspire no matter how many times you hear or read them.
The words of a song or a book are enduring, fixed letter combinations delivering their message to those who know how to translate them. We, the translators, bring to those words our rich and constantly changing context. And the context that I brought to this year’s festival was one of searching, of impatience, of frustration. And into this fertilized field, the words of this song added to some words from Philippians and a dash of the Holy Spirit fed my soul.
I suppose that some of the magic of the Festival is also in the music. For it was during those times – the times when there was just music and no words – that I allowed my mind to wander down new and narrow paths so that I could eventually sit back and study the map it drew for connections and new discoveries.
And finally, during one of these non-word times, I sat with a warm, peacefully sleeping child in my arms, the acoustic sounds of the guitar, violin, mandolin and banjo quenching my ears, my view overflowing with stars that only a Kansas night sky can hold and I received peace – God’s peace – and I was filled with joy.
“And I am sure that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on that day when Christ Jesus comes back again.” Philippians 1:6
This is, after all why I go to the festival. For me, the festival is not about the music – although that is undeniably an important element. No, for me, the festival is about the weaving of stories – the passing of truths through poetry and verse.
My youngest son shares this love of the Festival with me, although I am yet to discover what he enjoys the most. If close observation renders any hints, it is the food, the organization of the schedule and the music – not necessarily in that order. He likes his music fast and energetic – a speed to which Bluegrass and Irish reels certainly cater. He spent hours reading and re-reading the schedule for names he knew and checking out the Festival map for the placement of the stages and the bathrooms. Finally, he spent an annoying amount of time marking the hours until it was time to purchase a funnel cake.
No matter what our motivations for attending, we both agree that the main reason to attend is, and always will be, Tom Chapin and Michael Mark. Tom, like his brother Harry, is a master at storytelling. He also just happens to be a Grammy winning children’s songwriter. When Tom and Michael pair up with John McCutcheon – another master at telling stories – it is pure magic.
This year, the song that hit me was called “Doing My Job” written by John McCutcheon. This song was written during the 1995 Festival shortly after Cal Ripken Jr’s record-breaking stretch of 2,131 consecutive games on September 6, 1995. John sang it at this year’s Festival during the show that Tom and John always perform together on Saturday afternoon. They were singing songs from their collaborative album entitled, “Doing Our Job.”
The song goes like this:
It was one for the ages, one you just had to see.
So we sat on the sofa, my two kids and I and we watched on TV.
It was in the fifth inning, the game had to be stopped.
The whole ballpark went nuts when the number was dropped.
My kids they clapped and they hollered. Me, I choked up with tears
Thinking back on the grace he brought to that place for over thirteen years.
And as he stood in the spotlight, he looked so awkward and shy
When they asked him to say a few words on that day, this was his reply.
Chorus:
“I’m only doing my job like folks everywhere.
Where I come from, it’s just how things are done, doing my share.
I did not love every part, still I don’t think it odd.
Give your best and to hell with the rest, doing my job.”
I’ve heard that song many times before at previous festivals. But this year, it reached out and grabbed hold of me like never before. And this, my friends, is what makes a good song great. This is why I keep shelves full of stories that I have read and enjoyed many times. This is why verses in the Bible continue to inspire no matter how many times you hear or read them.
The words of a song or a book are enduring, fixed letter combinations delivering their message to those who know how to translate them. We, the translators, bring to those words our rich and constantly changing context. And the context that I brought to this year’s festival was one of searching, of impatience, of frustration. And into this fertilized field, the words of this song added to some words from Philippians and a dash of the Holy Spirit fed my soul.
I suppose that some of the magic of the Festival is also in the music. For it was during those times – the times when there was just music and no words – that I allowed my mind to wander down new and narrow paths so that I could eventually sit back and study the map it drew for connections and new discoveries.
And finally, during one of these non-word times, I sat with a warm, peacefully sleeping child in my arms, the acoustic sounds of the guitar, violin, mandolin and banjo quenching my ears, my view overflowing with stars that only a Kansas night sky can hold and I received peace – God’s peace – and I was filled with joy.
“And I am sure that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on that day when Christ Jesus comes back again.” Philippians 1:6
September 14, 2008
Food
My husband and I have seen the future and it isn’t pretty.
I was thinking, today, about food. When you have two children in your home it is hard not to think about food – especially on the weekend. For you see, it is the weekend when the meal plan for the week is born: recipe’s searched, options considered, daily activities listed, directions written and shopping list crafted.
In our house, this event typically takes place on Sunday afternoon while my husband takes a nap. Sometimes, I try and get the family involved. But, because I like a little variety in my diet, they are limited to suggesting meals for only one or two nights a week.
Our oldest is the healthiest eater of the bunch. This one will actually order side salads and apple dippers at McDonalds instead of fries. I still credit this to the fact that added sugar did not cross his lips until he was two years of age. He is, however, not a big eater. Never has been. He makes up for it by drinking his weight in liquids. Give that boy juice, milk, water or G2 and he’s got the bottle or glass gone in the first 2 minutes of the meal. We give him lines on his glass so that a drink will last through the entire meal.
My husband is our pickiest eater. He will not eat anything with cheese or milk in it – a flu in his early twenties ruined his body for anything containing lactose. He does not like spicy food (except for Pizza Hut’s mild chicken wings.) He will NOT eat fish unless carefully concealed within something else or cooked on the side so he can remove it. And pretty much likes all his food in large, recognizable chunks – which means NO casseroles.
I love food and will try anything – with the possible exception of liver. Even then – I would possibly be willing to experiment if someone out there has a recipe that can mask that incredibly nasty smell that gets on your hands and lingers there. I also don’t think that I would be very good at the Survivor challenges where they have to eat worms and bugs and stuff like that.
It is our youngest, however, that this article is about.
On Sunday, we eat lunch at Southwestern College. It is, by far, the best deal in town. It is an all-you-can-eat buffet brunch featuring two entrée options, two or three hot vegetable sides, a full breakfast, sandwich bar, salad bar, wall full of drink options, and a dessert bar that always includes ice cream. With my employee discount, the cost is $5 per adult and $3 per kid between the ages of 5 and 10. Kids under 5 eat free – but we don’t have any of those anymore.
This Sunday, my husband and I watched open-mouthed as our seven-year-old sat and ate most of a chicken fried steak, half of a pile of mashed potatoes, four raw carrots, two large pieces of raw broccoli, two link sausages, a bowl of applesauce, two cookies and topped everything off with a bowl of vanilla ice cream. My only solace was that all four food groups were represented.
Moving forward, we will not be sharing this information with the people who run the food service – they might change their prices.
I was thinking, today, about food. When you have two children in your home it is hard not to think about food – especially on the weekend. For you see, it is the weekend when the meal plan for the week is born: recipe’s searched, options considered, daily activities listed, directions written and shopping list crafted.
In our house, this event typically takes place on Sunday afternoon while my husband takes a nap. Sometimes, I try and get the family involved. But, because I like a little variety in my diet, they are limited to suggesting meals for only one or two nights a week.
Our oldest is the healthiest eater of the bunch. This one will actually order side salads and apple dippers at McDonalds instead of fries. I still credit this to the fact that added sugar did not cross his lips until he was two years of age. He is, however, not a big eater. Never has been. He makes up for it by drinking his weight in liquids. Give that boy juice, milk, water or G2 and he’s got the bottle or glass gone in the first 2 minutes of the meal. We give him lines on his glass so that a drink will last through the entire meal.
My husband is our pickiest eater. He will not eat anything with cheese or milk in it – a flu in his early twenties ruined his body for anything containing lactose. He does not like spicy food (except for Pizza Hut’s mild chicken wings.) He will NOT eat fish unless carefully concealed within something else or cooked on the side so he can remove it. And pretty much likes all his food in large, recognizable chunks – which means NO casseroles.
I love food and will try anything – with the possible exception of liver. Even then – I would possibly be willing to experiment if someone out there has a recipe that can mask that incredibly nasty smell that gets on your hands and lingers there. I also don’t think that I would be very good at the Survivor challenges where they have to eat worms and bugs and stuff like that.
It is our youngest, however, that this article is about.
On Sunday, we eat lunch at Southwestern College. It is, by far, the best deal in town. It is an all-you-can-eat buffet brunch featuring two entrée options, two or three hot vegetable sides, a full breakfast, sandwich bar, salad bar, wall full of drink options, and a dessert bar that always includes ice cream. With my employee discount, the cost is $5 per adult and $3 per kid between the ages of 5 and 10. Kids under 5 eat free – but we don’t have any of those anymore.
This Sunday, my husband and I watched open-mouthed as our seven-year-old sat and ate most of a chicken fried steak, half of a pile of mashed potatoes, four raw carrots, two large pieces of raw broccoli, two link sausages, a bowl of applesauce, two cookies and topped everything off with a bowl of vanilla ice cream. My only solace was that all four food groups were represented.
Moving forward, we will not be sharing this information with the people who run the food service – they might change their prices.
September 6, 2008
Football Season is Here
The Winfield 4th Grade Football Team won their first game of the season 13-0 against Wellington. At linebacker position, our oldest son made an interception that set the tone and instigated the momentum for the first touchdown in the first quarter. Mom, Dad and little brother all witnessed the interception from the sidelines and were extremely proud.
I try very hard not to yell too much during these games, but I could not resist after this play. “Way to get that pop tart!” I screamed from the sidelines. (Dad’s advice to our son last year about playing defense is, “Just pretend the ball is a chocolate pop tart and you are really, really hungry.”)
We also noticed that our oldest spent the rest of the game organizing the defensive line. He was a true leader – helping the other players understand where they were to stand and keeping them excited and pumped up.
It was a pretty exciting game to watch from the sidelines – but not necessarily for what was happening on the field. The Wellington coach got thrown out in the third quarter for foul language. This, of course, angered many of the Wellington fans and coaches and ended with the Winfield police making a subtle appearance.
Fortunately, our boys and coaches resisted the examples of poor sportsmanship and played an honest game. They played well, deserved the win and conducted themselves with integrity.
What was good about sports and what is bad about sports were both present on the field today. I’m just really glad that our boys were on the good side of the equation. It was a learning experience for all and we are saying a quick prayer for the other team. It’s never fun to lose – we certainly learned that lesson last year with our 0-7 season. Hopefully they can recover and, with God’s help, gain back some control.
I try very hard not to yell too much during these games, but I could not resist after this play. “Way to get that pop tart!” I screamed from the sidelines. (Dad’s advice to our son last year about playing defense is, “Just pretend the ball is a chocolate pop tart and you are really, really hungry.”)
We also noticed that our oldest spent the rest of the game organizing the defensive line. He was a true leader – helping the other players understand where they were to stand and keeping them excited and pumped up.
It was a pretty exciting game to watch from the sidelines – but not necessarily for what was happening on the field. The Wellington coach got thrown out in the third quarter for foul language. This, of course, angered many of the Wellington fans and coaches and ended with the Winfield police making a subtle appearance.
Fortunately, our boys and coaches resisted the examples of poor sportsmanship and played an honest game. They played well, deserved the win and conducted themselves with integrity.
What was good about sports and what is bad about sports were both present on the field today. I’m just really glad that our boys were on the good side of the equation. It was a learning experience for all and we are saying a quick prayer for the other team. It’s never fun to lose – we certainly learned that lesson last year with our 0-7 season. Hopefully they can recover and, with God’s help, gain back some control.
Cowley County Fair
(This post is a little late in coming. It was, however, written several weeks ago.)
The Cowley County Fair has come and gone. For the Hicks boys, it was successful. Our oldest entered in two projects – photography and visual arts. He received one purple, two blues and two reds – a very well-rounded bit of work.
The purple ribbon picture of a flower was sited with a spotlight award for “strong center of interest.” His blue ribbon photograph of a butterfly was given a blue for depth of field. He also got nice complements on his red ribbon photographs for a good job capturing side lighting.
He learned that sometimes people in a picture cause too much of a distraction. He learned to focus the camera on the subject of his photograph, not the background. And, he learned some lessons on the rule of thirds in photography. Most importantly, he enjoyed the experience.
His visual arts judge was equally as encouraging. She pointed out things in his drawing that he could have done better and encouraged him to bring more of his work back next year. I think that he will.
My youngest was entered again in the CloverBud competition. He entered a blanket that he constructed out of two pieces of fleece fabric glued together with stitch-witchery. He tied knots all around the outside to finish the edge. He is very happy with his project and has been sleeping with it for the past two nights.
We enjoyed working the food booth twice and got all the rocketry and aerospace exhibits checked in and judged. The temperatures averaged in the 100’s every day. It was hot, hot, hot. It was so hot that we weren’t totally free to enjoy the fair’s normal entertainments. I also think that the weather effected attendance just a bit. Today, we helped clean everything up.
Fair is done and its passing marks the final obligation of summer. Fall and school are around the corner. We are spending these final weeks trying very hard to forget they are coming.
The purple ribbon picture of a flower was sited with a spotlight award for “strong center of interest.” His blue ribbon photograph of a butterfly was given a blue for depth of field. He also got nice complements on his red ribbon photographs for a good job capturing side lighting.
He learned that sometimes people in a picture cause too much of a distraction. He learned to focus the camera on the subject of his photograph, not the background. And, he learned some lessons on the rule of thirds in photography. Most importantly, he enjoyed the experience.His visual arts judge was equally as encouraging. She pointed out things in his drawing that he could have done better and encouraged him to bring more of his work back next year. I think that he will.
My youngest was entered again in the CloverBud competition. He entered a blanket that he constructed out of two pieces of fleece fabric glued together with stitch-witchery. He tied knots all around the outside to finish the edge. He is very happy with his project and has been sleeping with it for the past two nights.
We enjoyed working the food booth twice and got all the rocketry and aerospace exhibits checked in and judged. The temperatures averaged in the 100’s every day. It was hot, hot, hot. It was so hot that we weren’t totally free to enjoy the fair’s normal entertainments. I also think that the weather effected attendance just a bit. Today, we helped clean everything up.
Fair is done and its passing marks the final obligation of summer. Fall and school are around the corner. We are spending these final weeks trying very hard to forget they are coming.
August 4, 2008
Journal Day 12
Journal Day 12
It’s the final day of vacation and we will be darned if we rush it or waste any of it. We didn’t have to check out until 11:00 a.m., so while Mom typed up the blog for yesterday, we all laid around and watched a couple of old family style movies on Turner Classic Movies.
It is extremely refreshing to see the boys so into movies that, in today’s standards, wouldn’t even probably make it to opening night. The first movie was about a con man who “got sold some swampland in Florida.” He traveled south to collect on his investment and, many hi-jinks later, unloaded the land on a sweet pair of newlyweds. As always happened in movies of the late 50s, early 60s – the hero got the girl, the bad guys were shot or arrested and the endearing con man got out ok – if not any richer. At one point, the young hero wrestled a huge alligator to save his girlfriend from being eaten. My oldest looked over at me with really big eyes and said, “Man, Mom! That was intense!” We’ve done something right, we have.
Once the blog was published, we packed up and headed to the Cherokee Heritage Museum on the southeast side of Tahlequah. This museum is a little challenging to find, but worth the effort. For the price of admission, you get access to the Trail of Tears exhibit, a self-paced tour of a frontier Cherokee town and a guided tour of an ancient Cherokee village. There was one difference that we noted for not the first time on our trip. No matter where you were outside, it was hot.
We did the ancient village first as there was a tour beginning right when we arrived. This tour had several similarities and some differences from the one that we did in Cherokee North Carolina. First of all, our guide was an older woman in her late 50s and 60s. From the quality of her tour, we knew she was a teacher and guessed her to be a professor of history or anthropology. She was an excellent teacher and guide.
The main difference I would say between the two tours was that our young guide in Cherokee, North Carolina focused on the “what” and the “how’s” of Cherokee life in the ancient times. Our guide in Oklahoma focused slightly more on the “why’s.” Both showed examples of blow guns, weaving, and canoe building. Our Oklahoma guide added two things to the “how to” list that were fascinating.
First, she demonstrated how to make an arrowhead using a striking rock, a piece of obsidian, and an antler. She talked about why the particular properties of the striking rock and the obsidian made them excellent choices. And, she explained why an antler was so useful in refining the shape of the arrowhead. The boys – all three of them – were in love with this woman from that moment forward.
Second, she finally demonstrated for us how the stick ball game is played. She actually threw a ball with the sticks to show the technique. We also finally got why they called stick ball the “little war.” Apparently, Cherokee’s used stick ball to settle disputes before going to war. War was only discussed if a good game of stick ball didn’t get the aggression and disagreement solved first. This would be an interesting experiment to try in the modern world, I think. Just fit the two fighting factions out with football uniforms, and let them have at it. Best two out of three wins the argument.
There were a few differences in the villages. When I pointed out these differences to her after the tour, she explained that they were most likely because the village that we saw in Cherokee NC was a slightly more modern version than the one being exhibited in Oklahoma. All in all, if you can – go to both. If not, either one will give you an excellent view into Cherokee life in ancient times. The experience is well worth the time and expense.
The museum exhibit on the Trail of Tears is terrific. In many ways, it does a much better job of bringing out the emotional experience of the Cherokee nation during their forced removal from their mountain home than the museum in North Carolina. There is one room in particular with life-sized sculptures of about 6-7 Cherokee. While in the room, voices repeat words from actual interviews of family members of people who marched on the trail. If you leave this exhibit with dry eyes, you haven’t really immersed yourself properly.
The village in the back is also interesting, although I must admit that we were way too hot to appreciate this fully. I can say that several of the buildings are authentic. They have been relocated to this area and placed in the village as representations of typical buildings of the time. There is a school house, a general store, several one and two room homes, and some farm buildings.
We finished up at the museum and headed quickly for the air conditioned comfort of the car and the continuing trip west. We were all quiet for the ride into the Tulsa area where we stopped for a brief respite from traveling and toured the Bass Pro Shop at Broken Arrow. We took a very close look at the hiking equipment and all tried on backpacks. We discovered that between the pack and sleeping bag alone, you would be carrying 8 pounds on your back. A four man tent adds another 4 pounds to someone. It appears that when hiking, food is the heaviest thing to carry.
After the Bass Pro Shop, we got back into the car and headed north and west to Winfield. The final stop was for dinner at the north McDonalds in Bartlesville. After that, it was a quick 1.5 hour drive home.
It’s the final day of vacation and we will be darned if we rush it or waste any of it. We didn’t have to check out until 11:00 a.m., so while Mom typed up the blog for yesterday, we all laid around and watched a couple of old family style movies on Turner Classic Movies.
It is extremely refreshing to see the boys so into movies that, in today’s standards, wouldn’t even probably make it to opening night. The first movie was about a con man who “got sold some swampland in Florida.” He traveled south to collect on his investment and, many hi-jinks later, unloaded the land on a sweet pair of newlyweds. As always happened in movies of the late 50s, early 60s – the hero got the girl, the bad guys were shot or arrested and the endearing con man got out ok – if not any richer. At one point, the young hero wrestled a huge alligator to save his girlfriend from being eaten. My oldest looked over at me with really big eyes and said, “Man, Mom! That was intense!” We’ve done something right, we have.
Once the blog was published, we packed up and headed to the Cherokee Heritage Museum on the southeast side of Tahlequah. This museum is a little challenging to find, but worth the effort. For the price of admission, you get access to the Trail of Tears exhibit, a self-paced tour of a frontier Cherokee town and a guided tour of an ancient Cherokee village. There was one difference that we noted for not the first time on our trip. No matter where you were outside, it was hot.
We did the ancient village first as there was a tour beginning right when we arrived. This tour had several similarities and some differences from the one that we did in Cherokee North Carolina. First of all, our guide was an older woman in her late 50s and 60s. From the quality of her tour, we knew she was a teacher and guessed her to be a professor of history or anthropology. She was an excellent teacher and guide.
The main difference I would say between the two tours was that our young guide in Cherokee, North Carolina focused on the “what” and the “how’s” of Cherokee life in the ancient times. Our guide in Oklahoma focused slightly more on the “why’s.” Both showed examples of blow guns, weaving, and canoe building. Our Oklahoma guide added two things to the “how to” list that were fascinating.
First, she demonstrated how to make an arrowhead using a striking rock, a piece of obsidian, and an antler. She talked about why the particular properties of the striking rock and the obsidian made them excellent choices. And, she explained why an antler was so useful in refining the shape of the arrowhead. The boys – all three of them – were in love with this woman from that moment forward.
Second, she finally demonstrated for us how the stick ball game is played. She actually threw a ball with the sticks to show the technique. We also finally got why they called stick ball the “little war.” Apparently, Cherokee’s used stick ball to settle disputes before going to war. War was only discussed if a good game of stick ball didn’t get the aggression and disagreement solved first. This would be an interesting experiment to try in the modern world, I think. Just fit the two fighting factions out with football uniforms, and let them have at it. Best two out of three wins the argument.
There were a few differences in the villages. When I pointed out these differences to her after the tour, she explained that they were most likely because the village that we saw in Cherokee NC was a slightly more modern version than the one being exhibited in Oklahoma. All in all, if you can – go to both. If not, either one will give you an excellent view into Cherokee life in ancient times. The experience is well worth the time and expense.
The museum exhibit on the Trail of Tears is terrific. In many ways, it does a much better job of bringing out the emotional experience of the Cherokee nation during their forced removal from their mountain home than the museum in North Carolina. There is one room in particular with life-sized sculptures of about 6-7 Cherokee. While in the room, voices repeat words from actual interviews of family members of people who marched on the trail. If you leave this exhibit with dry eyes, you haven’t really immersed yourself properly.
The village in the back is also interesting, although I must admit that we were way too hot to appreciate this fully. I can say that several of the buildings are authentic. They have been relocated to this area and placed in the village as representations of typical buildings of the time. There is a school house, a general store, several one and two room homes, and some farm buildings.
We finished up at the museum and headed quickly for the air conditioned comfort of the car and the continuing trip west. We were all quiet for the ride into the Tulsa area where we stopped for a brief respite from traveling and toured the Bass Pro Shop at Broken Arrow. We took a very close look at the hiking equipment and all tried on backpacks. We discovered that between the pack and sleeping bag alone, you would be carrying 8 pounds on your back. A four man tent adds another 4 pounds to someone. It appears that when hiking, food is the heaviest thing to carry.
After the Bass Pro Shop, we got back into the car and headed north and west to Winfield. The final stop was for dinner at the north McDonalds in Bartlesville. After that, it was a quick 1.5 hour drive home.
July 21, 2008
Journal Day 11
Well, we certainly know that we have left the country. There are people everywhere in our hotel. It almost seems that they are multiplying – kind of like squash on a vine. We got up to a noisy hotel and headed out for the early service at Christ the King Lutheran Church.The church has a radio broadcast of its services as well as a parochial school. This was a much different experience than our little mountain church of a week ago – but just as friendly. We were greeted warmly at the door and welcomed in person by both Pastors Neugebauer and Goble before the service.
While we were sitting in the pew waiting for the service to begin, a man sitting with his two children turned around and spoke to my husband. “I think that I’ve seen you before,” he said. After a few quick questions, turns out this man’s wife – the church organist – was a graduate of St John’s in Winfield. They come back every so often for the college reunion. Apparently, he and my husband had talked while they were visiting Trinity Lutheran in Winfield. We spoke with his wife later and found that we had several common acquaintances. It just goes to show you that no matter how you slice it, it’s still a very small world.
The service was great. The boys still didn’t want to go up to children’s time – too shy. During the summer, Pastor Goble let children take a bag home and bring things back. A young girl had taken it home and brought it back filled with two additional bags. Taped on the outside of the bags was $1 bill and a message for Pastor Goble. It read, “Pass the buck to Pastor Chuck.” And Pastor Goble gladly did.
Paster Neugebauer preached on Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43. He started with a great illustration on the futility of living for this life only. He talked about some of the wonderful achievements he had done in his life – athletic awards, getting a date with the most beautiful girl in high school, raising four boys and even being a grandpa. Then, he said that he had just done something in the last week that made him the proudest of all. Prouder than any of those other things – and he held up a tomato. He said, “Look at this. I, Pastor Chuck Neugebauer grew this beautiful tomato.” Then he caught himself. He said, “Well, God actually grew it. I just managed to not kill it.”
He went on to say that he would like to put the tomato on a shelf for all to see. But, in reality, he knew that the tomato’s life would be fleeting. In fact, if he put it on the shelf, it would soon begin to rot and die. I’m not sure how he did it (I had to do a little parenting in the pew just then) but he began discussing how we should live each moment of life reacting to and treating people as they will be in
heaven, not as they are now – a good way to move through life, I think.After church, we returned to the hotel, changed, packed up and headed out to see Mud Island – a museum and river park on the edge of the Mississippi River. The museum, about the culture and history along the Mississippi River was terrific. It had 18 galleries and life size replicas of a gunnery boat and steamboat. The boys enjoyed climbing on these. They also had an audio tour that added embellishments and voices about the exhibits on display. The museum was well done. The pace was just right. The tour Nazi called out the numbers that we were to type into the MP3 again. We had a great time.
Outside of the museum there was a to-scale model of the lower Mississippi. It was a topographical map which was a great hands-on way to demonstrate the curves and depths of the river as it rolls from it’s juncture with the Ohio all the way to it’s delta in Louisiana. We spotted the location where we crossed at Cairo and the boys had fun wading in the river from there to the Arkansas line.
After that, we headed back to our car on the monorail that we had taken out to the island and headed across the Mississippi River bridge and into Arkansas on I-40. The trip was easy this time – Interstate the entire way. I sat back, began to read one of my library books and enjoyed the rest of the day on the road.
We stopped at about 8:30 in Tahlequah, OK at the Holiday Inn Express. We sat for about an hour while the boys enjoyed swimming in the pool. We met another family of boys that were looking forward to a canoe trip on the Illinois the following day. We told them about our harrowing adventure on the Green and wished them a sunny, cloudless day.
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