Woodcutter's Revival (12 page)

“What happened to placer mining?”

“It was outlawed in the Mining Act of 1872. The process destroyed too much of the natural environment, caused erosion, and pollution. He argued that it was more economical and why should he be punished in his ability to make money?

“I prefer to think I was influenced more by the stories my Uncle Michael used to tell me. My favorite was the story of Moses. When he was born he was sentenced to death along with all the other Israelite boys up to two years old. Pharaoh had become concerned that the Hebrew slaves were prospering even though he had done everything possible to prevent them from flourishing. The irony was that Moses was raised in the very house of Pharaoh by his own mother as a maid-servant.

“He became the second most powerful man in the most powerful nation on earth. He even found more favor and earned more responsibility than Pharaoh's own son. Later, he saw an Egyptian abusing an Israelite. He acted impulsively and slew the Egyptian. He had to flee for his life, because he stood against injustice, even though he went too far. He lived in exile for forty years. In a moment, he chose between the wealth, comfort, privilege and prosperity of Egypt to live in exile as a shepherd.”

“What about your Uncle Michael? What happened to him?”

Victoria's countenance became very sober. “He stole a load of silver from Father and never came back to town.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. Maybe he got desperate. I try to remember him before that happened, and believe something happened to cause him to act in a way he wouldn't have acted under normal circumstances. I hope he comes back someday and asks for Father's forgiveness. I know Father is big enough to forgive him.”

Raymond was staring into Victoria's eyes. Something about the vulnerable look that thinking and talking about Michael and the past made her irresistible. He leaned closer. She did not turn her head or pull away. The first kiss.

Christmas had come and gone. The day was like most other days spent in the cabin. Stewart realized when he was staying with Michael, Christmas had not been just another day. Rather, most days were like Christmas. They had friendship, a warm cabin with plenty of firewood and food laid away. Stewart only hoped he was giving, at least in part, back to Michael. He knew Michael had taught and drawn wisdom from him. He wondered what he was giving Michael.

They had both dozed off while sitting by the fire in the late afternoon. Stewart woke first, stirred the fire and made some more coffee. His rustling caused Michael to stir. Stewart filled the cups when the coffee was ready. As they warmed themselves they began to converse. Michael began a topic he had only mentioned once prior to this afternoon. He only mentioned it previously due to Stewart's prodding. The topic was the past, in Discovery. Michael asked, “Have you ever despaired of life?”

Stewart answered, “I think I might have an idea of what you mean, but I am not sure.”

“I guess I would ask, ‘Have you ever just felt like giving up?' I did in Discovery. I had seen the dreams of youth die. I had always hoped to farm the family land with my brother. Then our parents died so suddenly. We held on longer than we should have until it was all gone. We weren't even able to sell the land. That didn't do it, though.

It seems the disasters which were brought upon us and were beyond our control made us stronger. Or it could be we were so young and foolish we thought we could handle anything.

“It seemed more like the chain of events which kept happening tended to finally wear us down. We tended to grieve more over choices which turned bad than over natural disaster. For example, try taking a person's life and he will fight you, but a person can give up and might even consider taking his own life. Some people call it melancholy. I call it the ‘Despondency.'

“Sometimes you wake from a deep sleep and start thinking. You don't want to think, but you do. You just want to go back to sleep. You think of things that need to get done. You haven't put them off, but for everything you get done, you feel like there are two more in its place. You think of things you could have done and things you wish you hadn't done. The harder you fight to sleep, the more you find yourself wide awake.

“Then, you get the dreaded realization that you are getting older. The things that used to be easy, like going through the day with little sleep, or putting in a full day's work with energy to spare, become more difficult. When you are doing your required daily tasks, you want to be sleeping. When you are in bed, trying to go sleep, you wish it were day so you could get things done. The night seems endless and the things you picture in your mind seem to have a dark pallor of dread hanging over them.

“To top it all off, there is one thing worse than not having dreams or not reaching the dreams you have. That is spending all your efforts on one thing and then accomplishing it to find it wasn't really what you wanted at all.”

Stewart inquired, “It almost sounds as if nothing is worth the effort.”

“Not at all! The best object of life is to put the most effort into everything. Do the best you can at what you have and then as you accomplish it, move on to the next thing. As you get older, you hope you find the time to rest physically, but you have to guard your thoughts. You have to focus on the positive and learn to appreciate each day. This is what Psalm ninety talks about in learning to number our days that we may be found with a heart of wisdom.

“Let me show you those verses,” said Michael, as he fumbled for his Bible.

“Psalm ninety, twelve to seventeen says,

Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. Relent, O Lord! How long will it be? Have compassion on your servants. Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days, Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us, for as many years as we have seen trouble. May your deeds be shown to your servants. Your splendor shown to their children. May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us; establish the work of our hands for us - yes, establish the work of our hands.

“Then, over in ninety-one, five through eight, he says: ‘You will not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday. A thousand may fall at your side; ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you. You will only observe with your eye and see the punishment of the wicked.'

“That sure sounds like San Juan Hill. Teddy and all of us displayed this type of courage. Do you know that most of the terrors you imagine are worse than the actual incidents themselves? San Juan Hill was worse, but we showed courage.

One other verse related to these that you need to know to equip yourself. Proverbs five, one and two says, ‘My son, pay attention to My wisdom, listen well to My words of insight, that you may maintain discretion and your lips may preserve knowledge.'

“Some translations say, ‘Discernment,' in place of ‘discretion.' Now if you number your days, live each day to the fullest, and one day at a time, you will have discernment and discretion. You will be able to understand people's motives and not find yourself hoodwinked by them. You will not worry over things that you can do nothing about anyway, you will find joy, and God will confirm the works of your hands.

Stewart asked, “Michael, what have you done since you have been up here?”

“A lot of thinking. The main conclusion I have drawn is the only things of lasting value, besides the necessities of survival, are those things which affect the lives of others. Those things which cause others to evaluate their perspectives and change them as needed.”

“It's kind of ironic, Michael. You charged up San Juan Hill in Cuba, but you retreated into the San Juan Mountains when you came here.”

“I guess that is correct. I never thought of that.”

“You know, my brother had a certain passion for life. He used to say he made his own way and if you worked hard, you will be successful. That was true to a degree. He did not account for God's grace. God provides for the sparrows, but they still have to gather. The part my brother didn't understand is that God provided. His passion was for what he could accomplish or acquire. I don't think he ever thought about the wisdom of seeking God's will for his life. His was a sense of entitlement, as if to say, ‘Success is owed to me.'

“He thought we were successful because of his ability to select where to dig and our hard work. He failed to take into account that he stumbled onto the site where Discovery is located. We were also quite fortunate that prospectors were going through and needed supplies. We were able to make some money and offer a service by opening the wood-fired smelter. He must have had some political pull in obtaining the spur line into town and obtaining an investor. That opened everything. He could then ship the silver out, obtain coal to upgrade his smelter and obtain supplies to resell.

“Another irony was that my brother thought any government intervention was wrong as it hindered his ability to make a fortune, such as child labor laws, anti-trust legislation, women's suffrage, and pollution restrictions. He did, however want government guarantees to purchase silver to mint coins, and protection and security. He wanted the benefits of free enterprise without the liabilities or responsibilities.

Stewart added, “Following that line of logic, he was probably in favor of slavery, as it helped those with the means to maintain their high standard of living with cheap or free labor.”

“We did not talk about slavery. We were both too young to fight in the Civil War.”

They continued to talk long into the night. Finally, Stewart felt so tired he had to excuse himself to go to bed. As he turned in, he noticed Michael was sitting at the table with a lamp, writing intensely. Stewart quickly drifted off into a deep sleep.

Morning arrived very quickly. It seemed he had just closed his eyes on the silhouette of Michael writing at the table, to open them again to find the cabin dark. He realized he had slept the night away and it was now early morning.

He decided to get up and tend to the stove, make some coffee and start breakfast. As he lit the lamp, he noticed some notes scribbled on a paper. Trying not to be too nosey, he started to arrange the papers into a neat stack so they would require less room on the table. He looked at a page which read: “When I hear a heart-felt performance or read an inspiring thought, I sometimes weep - not only because the music was beautiful or the thought deeply profound. Rather, I weep when I see someone applying themselves and putting their heart into their expression, demonstrating passion. Though they may never obtain it, they are reaching for their potential.”

Stewart wept too because he discerned the heart of the man who wrote these thoughts. He understood what it meant to display passion in your expression.

Chapter Eleven

S
tewart knew the time for his departure was drawing near. He viewed the possibility with very mixed emotions. He hated the thought of leaving Michael and not being around his enriching but simple environment. He looked forward, however, with increasing anticipation to moving on with his life. When he decided to venture through the mountains into Wellspring, he knew there would be many possibilities.

Stewart knew, upon leaving home, that he would probably find a career, meet the best friend of his life and, yes, probably find a wife. He had no idea he would meet such a good friend as Michael, this short of a distance into the mountains. He was particularly surprised to find such a good friend with so much difference in age and experience from his own.

While he was thinking, Michael got out of bed, assisted by his crutch, and walked over to the table. He had a distinct limp, yet was beginning to get around the cabin without assistance.” Michael, are you going to be able to hunt and fend for yourself when I leave?”

“Of course, boy. Don't worry about an old man like me. Shoot, I'm all rested and ready to wrestle a bear.”

“Michael, I wasn't trying to be nosey, but I noticed some of the material you have written. I think it's wonderful!”

“I thought it might be useful for me to keep my thoughts recorded. Writing helps me sort out my experiences and find some consolation for having gone through so many of them. Who knows, somebody else might be able to read through it and get something.”

“It seems you have so much to share. I know people will find it useful. If someone could suffer a little less by reading about your suffering, it'll have been worth the effort. If somebody gains by reading about the injustices you suffered, that may bring some sort of restitution and healing.”

“Well. I hope so. If someone could suffer a little less by reading about my suffering, I suppose the second sacrifice of writing it down is worth the effort. It is kind of like the firewood analogy we discussed earlier. You get warmed when you cut it, and increase your strength and stamina, due to the physical effort. Then the person with whom you share the fire and you both get warmed. I don't think we go through any of life's experiences without a purpose. I know I could not write about justice if I hadn't experienced injustice.”

“I know what you mean. I look forward to reading your work.”

“Stewart, you have been a great inspiration to me. You saved my life, but more importantly you have helped regain my perspective.”

Michael thought for a moment and continued, “You know an injury to our soul is much like an injury to our body. First, it takes time to get over the initial hurt. During that time you have trouble believing somebody could actually treat you in such a way. You feel like you have an open wound. Just like a physical injury immobilizes a person, an injury of the sole causes a person to lose perspective. You are probably less likely to entrust yourself to others after an injury.

“Rational thought is almost impossible, at least in regard to the hurt and injustice. You might be a person prone to settle the score. You might be tempted toward retaliation to the point that you actually feel as if you committed vengeance. Or, you might be a person who closes inwardly.

“The injured person needs time to rest and sort out thoughts. Any important decisions should be delayed or sorted with trusted council. The injury begins to heal as the injured person can forgive. The forgiveness is begun by confessing to another person. The confession is not a detailed account of the wrong, but to admit, to yourself and somebody else, that you lack the ability to forgive on your own effort.

“The final step of healing is restoration or recovery. Like a bodily injury, the person must ease back into active duty. My leg had to mend itself. The bone had to fuse back together. After the fusion, I had to stretch and work the muscle and tendon connected to the joint to begin to strengthen it.

“Injury of the soul also requires action. The injured person must do something for the person who caused the injury. This is the ultimate act of forgiveness. It also places the injured person back into active duty. The inability to forgive does little or nothing to the person you refuse to forgive. An unforgiving attitude hurts and continues to debilitate the person refusing to forgive.

“Isn't it possible to get accustomed to the pain and almost be afraid you might miss it?” asked Stewart.

“I'm not sure about the psychology of pain, but I know a person can wallow in self pity. You can justify to yourself why you should continue to harbor a grudge. Doing something to demonstrate forgiveness breaks that cycle of self pity as surely as walking and stretching helps a person gain full strength and recovery of an injured limb.”

“What do you think you might be doing about your brother?”

“I've been thinking about that. After you have headed for Wellspring, I think I might be heading down to Discovery. I don't know what I might do, but I have to make the effort to contact him.”

“I should probably stay here until I'm sure you will be well enough.”

“Nonsense boy, you can't hang around here. You need to be getting to Wellspring. That is where you'll find your dreams.”

“Since I've met you, I'm not so sure I still have those same dreams.”

“You have to go after them. Nobody can give you dreams or take them away. You can only pursue them or forfeit them. I could not let you do that. Sure your dreams change and your realities and perspective change. Your goal is to get to Wellspring. You don't know what the trail will bring between here and the city. You keep pushing in that direction.

“Edward and I knew a miner who was on a claim next to ours. He worked that claim for three years. He put all his resources and energy into finding a vein. He used all his food and about wore out his second pick and shovel. I think he finally just gave out, because he lost hope.

“We noticed we hadn't smelled the smoke from his cook stove for a few days. We decided to climb up around the ridge and over to his camp to see that he was alright. We couldn't find him in his camp, so we went into the shaft. There he was - dead. We decided to bury him there, right in his shaft. As we were digging around to get enough loose aggregate, we saw something shiny. There was the lode of silver. He had been getting so desperate, that he hardly took time to get his lamp and bring it closer to the work. Dim light, no reflection and he could not see the silver ore.”

“What about his claim?”

“There was nothing we could do. We all worked so hard, that we didn't take time to visit. There was no address or information about family in his personal effects. Without proper paperwork, in an area that has not been surveyed, you die, you abandon your claim. He had literally reached his dreams, but didn't know it. He'd lost hope because he abandoned the light to guide his path.

“Your dreams are the same way. You might not know exactly what you want, but as you begin to formulate them, you have to stick with it and not give up. When you get closest to your dreams, they will seem furthest from you. Then you will even doubt if they are really your dreams. So, the light that illuminates your journey is the most important constant. You won't recognize your dreams, when you reach them without the light.”

“I hope you're right. I just hate to leave you here by yourself. I like to think my motives are only for your welfare, but selfishly, I might be a little anxious of what lies ahead.”

Michael responded, “I don't think it is the fear of failure or injury we all face, like those night terrors. I think we fear that our dreams, if reached, won't be as fulfilling as we had imagined.”

“I can see that.”

“Come on boy! We can talk through another winter. We need to get your victuals ready. You probably have an eight to ten day walk ahead of you.”

Michael busied himself, packing hardtack, dried apples, raisins, jerky from the venison Stewart had prepared, sunflower seeds and water. Michael had turned his face so Stewart could not see the tears running down his cheek into his beard.

By Michael's activity, Stewart came to the stark realization: “This was it!” He would be leaving in the morning. The packing put a damper on their usually bright conversations which would have lasted into the night. “We better hit the hay. You'll be leaving early in the morning.”

Stewart took a long last look around the cabin. He wanted to cherish this bittersweet moment, this little room and his memories of it forever. He slept without dreams, at least none he could remember. He did not want his last night to go so rapidly. As he awoke, he saw Michael finishing the packing by the light of the lamp. He smelled the coffee brewing on the cook stove and knew he would be eating Michael's biscuits soon, probably his last real meal until he would reach his destination.

Michael was quieter than usual this morning. Stewart knew why and honored the quiet. Besides, he honestly did not know what to say. Would it seem arrogant to attempt to console another who was saddened by your departure? Was it presumptuous to think Michael was quiet because he was anticipating the departure? Stewart had no answers for his questions.

Shortly, they ate breakfast. Stewart put his possessions together and finished packing as tightly and as concisely as possible. As Stewart finished, he looked up at Michael. Michael was lifting his favorite Winchester from the rack over the fireplace.

“This is yours, boy, you'll need it.”

“I can't take that.”

“If there is one thing we have taught each other, it is that we accept a gift as a gift. Besides, you would be disrespectful to not honor an old man's wishes.”

“I'll only take it if you hang onto my thirty-thirty carbine until I see you again.”

“Okay, but where I am going, I won't need the Winchester.”

Stewart did not have to ask. He knew what Michael planned to do. As Stewart left, he felt as though in the few months he spent with Michael, he had changed his perspective more than any other time in his life. In fact, he felt as though the past few months had caused everything he had ever learned, thought, or done to suddenly congeal. He felt as though he had been born again.

As he pondered this idea, he could not shake the thought he had been born for adversity. Stewart remembered what Michael taught him. Michael said, “Believe your dreams, trust your instincts, and doubt your fears.”

Stewart did not view his present thoughts as fears. He knew well enough what fear was. Rather, he reasoned to himself, they were simply an acceptance of the facts and events before they materialized.

He had only felt this way once before. About a year ago he had a premonition of his gramps dying. The thing he feared most was the loss of his gramps. He had attempted to pass the thought as a childish fear. Then within two months, he was shocked but not surprised when his dad sat him down to tell him the news. God had prepared him beforehand for the tragedy.

Stewart and Michael had talked several times about the descent to Wellspring. They figured, in good weather, the trip would take eight to ten days. If he paced himself and did not attempt too much the first day he would be able to cover more ground each successive day. This thought and the sounds and smell of spring caused Stewart's thinking to return to the farm. In spring, as they began plowing, the horses had to be brought gradually back to the level of work they had achieved per day at harvest.

If the horses were worked too much the first few days, they could be injured or wear-out too soon and then loose more time in recovering. Their best puller, Old Ben, was the slowest to warm-up. In the mornings, especially, in cooler weather, or after he had been worked hard for several days, he was slow to start. He had what Stewart's dad called “cold shoulder.” Cold shoulder was a stiffness which was very apparent. Once Ben was stretched and warmed by pulling for a while, he could pull longer days and heavier loads than any of the other horses Stewart's family had ever owned.

Stewart walked about six hours on the first day, watching as the trees and brush became less pervasive and the ridges became rockier. He could see the distinct “edge” called the tree line where the altitude increased so much that not enough air existed for the trees to grow like they did in lower altitudes. He attempted to stay below the tree line if he could. No need to climb over when you could find a way through.

He came to camp early so he could rest and break-in his muscles gradually for the increased strain. He decided he would rest earlier the first day, push himself the second day for about eight to ten hours and get an intermediate day of about six hours again on the third day. He hoped the third day would be about a third of the way. He also planned to alternate the remaining days between long and short days to rest and recover adequately.

On the afternoon of the third day, Stewart found a small clearing in the trees, boulders and brush. He decided this would be a large enough area to camp. As he began setting up his tent, he had an eerie felling. He looked around to see if there was somebody within sight or sound. There was nobody. As he attempted to rationalize the fear, he became increasingly concerned. Although he heard nothing and could offer no physical evidence for his concerns, he could not shake the feeling.