GreatRidge Station

It was around 1970, and I was a student at Josephine Hintgen Elementary School. It was the beginning of the school year, and a publication showed up. I don’t remember what it was called, but I do remember that the teachers all seemed a bit surprised and perplexed by it.

In this magazine, there was an article about the Bald Eagle, which at that time was highly endangered and approaching extinction. For a dollar, we could become charter members of the “Eagle Protection Society.” A bunch of us did that, and like the others, I got the membership card by mail. There is nothing cooler for a 9-10 year old kid than to get real mail.

Yesterday, I was driving home from a stop at the hardware store, and I was just past the church we’re part of. Ahead of me, on the road, I see wings. Big wings. And I watched as an eagle dragged roadkill off to the side of the road for lunch. It looked like it was maybe a 10-point buck. (Just kidding). Based on its size and color, it was probably a muskrat.

So this eagle dragged its lunch to the side of the road, and then perched there for several seconds before partaking of the bounties set before it. There were very few cars on the road, and we all drove by very slowly: Gawker’s slowdown.

A lot has changed in the past 40 years or so. I can tell you I never saw an eagle in my childhood. There were rare times that someone would say “look–an eagle,” but to me it looked like a fleck of black high above in the clear blue sky. In the past 15 years, I have seen many eagles, some from only a few feet away.

Two thoughts, here. First, if you get near the National Eagle Center in Wabasha, Minnesota, stop in for a visit. It is definitely worth the trip (Bonus–You are not far from Lark Toys–so stop there, too). Second, I just wanted you to know that I did my part in protecting the eagles, and I’d say I got a pretty good deal for my dollar.

I sent that dollar in, along with every ounce of my childhood enthusiasm and idealism. You know that’s true because I still remember it all these years later.  I don’t know if the Eagle Protection Society was ever a real organization or not, but I do know this: I did my part. And to all Americans, I just want to say, “You’re Welcome.”

I just started reading Son of the Middle Border, by Hamlin Garland. I picked it up for two reasons; first, having grown up along the Mississippi River, I could easily relate to the title, and second, Garland himself lived in West Salem, Wisconsin, little more than 20 miles from my hometown of La Crosse.

I expected a novel, but what I got instead was a novelized-memoir/autobiography. I’m only a few chapters in, but I’m enjoying it immensely. He speaks quite passionately about his father’s return home from the Civil War, and in some ways, brings that time to life in some startling ways. Garland was obviously a man who loved his family, and he recounts his memories of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and neighbors in a very engaging way. I’m enjoying the book, but a lot has happened in the 90 years since it was written–he explains some things, confident that I will understand what he is writing about, but h’ain’t necessarily so. His description of “threshing” includes a detailed description of something called “the power,” and it took me some time to figure out that this was a horse-driven flywheel mechanism to which the threshing machine was connected. The horses powered it by drawing a carousel-like contraption in circles around it. This was as alien to me as my ipod would be to Mr. Garland.

The point I want to make here, however, is not the differences in technology, terminology, or time, but the amazing consistency in the nature of people. Garland was a wonderful observer of the human condition, and his characterizations are honest, not always flattering, but always compassionate. He accepts people as people, with their foibles and imperfections.

He is a master at describing what motivates people, how teams work, and the imperfections that mark some of his most colorful characters. He expresses deep appreciation for people who might not have liked each other. Never mind that–Garland likes them, and because of that, we like them, too.

The good leader knows how to see the best in people, and strives to nurture their strengths. Like Garland, I have many friends who would not get along with each other. That is not the point, though. I am richer for the different perspectives they bring to my life, and I hope, a better person because of the positive influence they have had on me.

I read books like Garland’s because they open my eyes. I find much to disagree with in Garland’s life and fiction, but I enjoy hearing his voice from times gone by. He has shown me this: Across the generations, we are all the same, and yet across today, we are all different.

This is a lesson we all need, and as I ponder it, I am struck with both fear and gratitude.

My mom does make me laugh.

She also reads this blog. I got the following as part of an e-mail:

…Jan 28th you have a misspelling in Rule #2. individualism.  Also noticed some time back, you used new when you meant knew.  Oh, how much fun it is to correct a DR.! Haha!

I told her I was going to mention this in my blog. Her response: “Uff-da.”

Let it be known that I come by my sense of humor honestly.

By the way–I fixed those typos. Thanks, mom!