Category: History

The Content of Our Hearts

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

tenn_fireWhen my daughters were still children our family traveled to Smoky Mountain National Park. I have to admit that we didn’t find it to be as breathtaking as the Rocky Mountains or other scenic destinations that we have visited and yet there was something almost primally inviting about the place. I found myself wondering if the wilderness that I saw on our hikes resembled the world of my grandfather. He had grown up in the shadow of the area before the dawn of the twentieth century, describing his boyhood home as being quite primitive but lovely beyond the limits of words. He spoke of seeing the mountains in the distance and longing to travel there. Eventually he made it like we did and he thought them to be as enchanting as he had imagined.

I’ve been quite sad to hear of the destruction in Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge, two towns that have struggled economically over the years but found a way to survive by catering to the tourists who have been flocking to the mountains for decades. Most of the businesses in those places are owned by local residents who operate candy stores, eateries and ice cream emporiums as a way of earning a living. There are hotels, mini golf courses and amusements for virtually every taste. I admittedly found the place to be a bit over the top and didn’t want to stay long but I know people who visit every single year and are absolutely convinced that it is a kind of heaven on earth. I tend to prefer natural beauty to manmade sights and sadly the raging wildfires are destroying both human structures and ancient forests.

The photos coming from that location are heartbreaking. Some of the townspeople are calling it Armageddon. Having a rather primitive fear of fire makes me especially sympathetic to those who have lost their homes, businesses and possessions, not to mention the unfortunate souls who have died. Today I looked at photos of exhausted firefighters literally collapsing onto the pavement after hours of fighting desperately to control the blaze. The look of defeat on their faces said more than any descriptions of what is happening there.

One of my aunts lost her home in a fire a few years back. She was happily decorating her yard for Christmas when she saw flames coming from her roof. She did her best to save a few treasures but the burning accelerated even before the firefighters arrived. Her house with everything in it burned to the ground, so many memories gone forever. She has never really moved on from the tragedy of losing so much of what she had accumulated over a lifetime. All of her home movies melted into celluloid balls. The family Bible that had been handed down for generations was a heap of ash. Nothing was spared but her life and that of her husband.

They moved to a senior living facility where they have found a semblance of peace but there has been a sadness about her that was never before there. She was ninety years old when it happened, far too old to think of starting over again. She is, of course, happy to still be alive and she realizes better than anyone that everything that burned was nothing compared to a human life and yet in each of our homes there are priceless items that we enjoy and that seem to define us in some ways.

I recall learning in English class that we have the power to “love” people but we should only “like” things. It is an important distinction that we should all observe because in the long history of humanity there have been many instances in which people lost everything but the clothes on their backs. They had to begin anew, start fresh. I think of the victims of the Holocaust whose very humanity was threatened for a time. I consider the citizens of New Orleans whose homes were swept away by punishing waters. I wonder how it must have felt to watch the tsunami instantly destroying a modern city in Japan. Earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, wars have stolen the humble belongings of countless people and time and again they have risen like phoenixes. It is in our human DNA to pick ourselves up and try again.

Still such events leave a scar on those who must endure them. I know people from New Orleans who lost their homes to hurricane Katrina. They become fearful when heavy rains pour from the sky. My daughter won’t light a candle in her house because she was once the victim of a fire started by an unattended candle in the apartment building where she lived. Just as I shutter when I hear of car accidents because such an event caused my father’s death, so too do those who have had horrific experiences relive them in certain circumstances.

My heart is heavy for the people who have had to flee their homes in the Smokey Mountains. It will be decades before the lovely beauty that they have enjoyed returns. Nature will eventually come back to life and they may rebuild but the precious sense of security that they may have felt is gone for a time, if it ever even returns.

I look around the home that I so enjoy and think of how horrible it would be to suddenly lose it. I remember a time when a priest asked us to imagine how we might feel if every thing that we owned were taken away and we were left standing naked but with our family and friends intact. He urged us to look into our hearts and decide what is truly important, hinting that what we own is never where our focus should be.

In this season of Christmas we should think of the young couple who traveled to Bethlehem so long ago, staying in a cold manger on the night of their child’s birth. Their earthly possessions were few and yet they had brought a savior into the world whose influence would live right into our present century. He would teach us that there is nothing that we ever do that is as important as loving ourselves and our neighbors. It is a difficult command that we do not always follow as well as we might. We become distracted by the pursuit of wealth, power and things that in the end turn to dust. It is only in how we truly live according to God’s word that we find the peace and contentment that we seek.

We should all look within especially when we see the constant reminders of how fragile our lives are. As terrible as those fires are they should send the message that what truly matters is the content of our hearts.

The Weather Outside Is Frightful

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

A-Stormy-Atlantic.jpgThe weather outside if frightful. No, it’s not snowing. It’s too warm. This is the last day of November and I have yet to wear a sweater or a pair of boots. My grass is stilling growing and in need of a good mowing. I have hibiscus blooms and dozens of roses. While it is a lovely sight I am a creature of habit and it is simply not supposed to be this temperate at this time of year. I’m all in for some cold weather but it doesn’t seem to be anywhere on the horizon.

The stores in my city can barely give away coats. I won’t be surprised if someone is one day standing at the exits passing them out to anyone who wants to take them away. Sweaters are faring no better. The winter season will pass and I will never have removed my flip flops. Usually by now I have switched my winter things to a more prominent position in my closet but this year I have left those things hidden in the dark recesses. I wonder if I will need them at all.

I point all of this out because I can’t imagine how anyone still clings to the false premise that climate change is a myth. It stands to reason that we have a symbiotic relationship with nature. There are photos from space that show the destruction that we have wrought on our planet and our atmosphere. We have already reached a dangerous tipping point and yet there are far too many people who argue that we humans have nothing to do with the changes that are so apparent to those of us who have witnessed many seasons.

A recent article in my local newspaper pointed out that areas of the city are experiencing flooding problems for the first time in their history. An expert noted that when communities are being initially planned the builders generally take drainage into account and grade to insure that run off goes into the gutters. Of late individuals are tearing down older homes and erecting massive houses that disregard the way heavy rains will flow. The result has been devastating in some places. This of course is just one more way in which we humans sometimes ignore the negative effect of our decisions.

We have a world of problems and we have become accustomed to living in relative luxury compared to our ancestors. My children are members of the first generation to spend all of their lives in air conditioned homes. Back in the day we left our windows open in the summer and used fans to stir up a breeze. It was sometimes brutally hot but we learned how to live with it. There weren’t many electronics to run and most families owned a single car regardless of the size of the family. In other words we used far less energy than most people use today. We all too often believe that it would be impossible to live in conditions that were commonplace in the past.

I realize that it would be difficult to revert to the old ways and I don’t necessarily think that we should. What does need to happen is a nationwide investment in finding new and reliable ways of providing energy. When we put concerted effort into reaching the moon we were successful in a very short span of time. We should create the same level of excitement for dealing with climate change. In my day young people dreamed of working at NASA and being part of the space program. The best and the brightest wanted to be part of the action. If we were all to agree that solving the problems that so devastate our planet are just as important we might turn the tide.

My brother was one of those youngsters who walked around with an illustrated book written by Werner von Braun which described a station in space that would house humans. He told people when he was a tiny tot that he was going to work on building such things. He studied hard with the goal of one day achieving something exciting. He has now spent virtually his entire career designing the navigational systems for the International Space Station. What had once been only pictures in his mind became stunning reality.

I feel that it is incumbent upon all of our leaders to accept the facts that scientists around the globe have proven with compelling evidence. My own anecdotal comments about the weather may be false but the data and photographs lead to the same conclusions as mine. I worry when I travel to the western United States and see dangerously dry conditions so unlike what I witnessed in the same places when I was young.

Some people seem to think that climate change is a political football. An entire party appears to embrace the very dangerous idea that it is somehow a made up concept designed to funnel money to particular industries and take it from others. The game that they play is dangerous. It overlooks the possible future of our children and grandchildren. It is a gamble that I don’t wish to make.

A group of Native Americans are waging a battle at Standing Rock. They do not want a pipeline to be built near the Columbia River. They worry about its potential effect on the very water that the people in that area drink. Whether or not their concerns are real or foolish seems to matter little to me. They deserve to have a say over what happens to land that once belonged wholly to their ancestors and was taken away by people who somehow thought their claims were invalid. We have treated our native peoples with gross disregard for far too long. We have ignored their traditions and dishonored the animals and the environment. They have been right more often than not as we blithely altered the landscape. Now it is time to hear them out. Theirs is a voice that we should not ignore on both moral and objective grounds.

We are beginning to understand the error of our human ways but there are still those who have managed to convince themselves that we are entitled to the fruits of our planet without consequence. The time for such thinking should be long past. It is too dry in some places and too wet in others. The extremes that we see in weather should not be reproduced in our political landscape. I long for true leaders who will educate the public rather than pander for votes. Our fate depends whether or not we are able to finally take the necessary steps to save us all. 

A Very Thanksgiving Treat

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

elliott-pecansI always loved visiting my grandmother’s house in November. She was sure to have enamel bowls filled with tangerines and pecans. Usually it was just chilly enough to warrant using her ceramic gas heater to warm the living room. It always felt so cozy being there with my aunts and uncles and many cousins. I came to associate such things with the month of November. To this very day I have to have tangerines in my refrigerator and fresh pecans in my pantry when the eleventh month rolls around. It just doesn’t seem to feel right without them.

My Aunt Opal made pumpkin pie all year round but unless it was November we were never certain that she would have any available when we came to visit. Not so, in November. She never failed to have one ready for us whenever we chose to spend time with her then. Hers were absolutely the best that I have ever tasted. She didn’t even need a recipe to whip one up. The directions were all in her head. I used to love watching her roll out the pie dough and mix the ingredients for the filling. She always had some interesting story to tell us while her weathered hands did their work. I can still see her working the dough with her old rolling pin and stirring the creamy mixture that would gel into pure deliciousness. My mouth waters just thinking about it.

My mother liked to take the pecans that were so plentiful in November and bake them up into a pie. She transformed those nuts into a delectable southern delight. She was rather famous for her special recipe. I recall a time when she took one of her pies to a party and placed it next to a pecan pie that somebody else had prepared. When a friend of mine heard that one of Mama’s famous creations was there she rushed in to claim a piece before the dessert was gone. She took one bite and spit it back on the plate exclaiming, “This isn’t your mom’s pie! Where did this come from?” Luckily the baker of the less tasty treat wasn’t around to hear her insult but my mother had caught the gist of the conversation and quickly came to the rescue with a slice of her pie. From then on my friend always checked to be certain that she was getting nobody else’s pecan pie but Mama’s.

Yesterday after visiting with my in-laws my husband and I ventured over to the Airline farmer’s market. We were greeted by the sound of the nut cracking machine that was busy opening pounds and pounds of fresh pecans. It is a sound that I have heard each November for as long as I can remember. It tells me that my birthday is coming soon and that Thanksgiving is just around the corner. Its click clack is so comforting. It is much like hearing a train rumbling down the tracks in the dark of night. It is a link to some of the most wondrous times in my past.

While at the market I also saw a huge display of tangerines. I rushed over immediately to fill a bag. The aroma of citrus filled my senses and told me that I will be enjoying juicy fruit in the coming days. I feel content in knowing that I am able to find such delightful items so close to my home.

We really do live in a land of plenty. I had a friend who grew up in Germany at the same time that I was experiencing a childhood in the United States. He often spoke of playing in the rubble of his city of Bremen which had been bombed continuously during World War II. He developed scurvy because of the lack of vitamin C. For most of his lifetime fruits and vegetables were a luxury. He told of a time when an aunt had a single tomato to share with the family and how it was prized as a precious delicacy. Each person took a thin slice and ate it as though it was pure gold. When he eventually moved to the United States he was astounded by the abundance that we all enjoyed. He never lost his appreciation for our country and the wealth that it provided him.

My mother always told me that her parents saw themselves as being rich simply because they always had good food on the table. They turned their backyard into a garden and raised animals for milk and meat. Even during the Great Depression they always had good meals created by my grandmother. Nothing was ever wasted. Even bones and peelings were boiled for broth for soups and seasonings. When the family ate fish my grandmother would consume the head and give the more savory parts to her children.

We sometimes forget how precious food was for our ancestors and rarely think about people in other parts of the world who are starving even as we fill garbage trucks with mountains of food that might otherwise save a life. We take our food for granted and rarely realize our good fortune in having a lovely orange or a bowl of nuts. We don’t want to think about small children with bloated bellies who are wracked with pain because they do not have enough sustenance. Thanksgiving simply doesn’t have the same meaning when we have never known want as it might feel like to truly experience grinding hunger.

In November I am thankful that my mother like her mother always found a way to keep our stomachs full. Sometimes our dinner was little more than a bowl of pinto beans but there was something on our table to sustain us even when our cupboard seemed to be bare. I often took egg sandwiches to school for lunch. At the time it embarrassed me because there were often complaints about the smell. Sometimes I chose not to eat rather than reveal my strange repast. I now think of how silly I was, especially when I consider the millions of people who would have thought themselves most fortunate to have something so tasty and wholesome to eat. In so many ways I have been spoiled.

It is in the small things that we feel the most delight. For me the tangerines, pecans and pumpkins that were the treats of my childhood Novembers are still a special treasure. When I eat them they are more than just tasty. They are ways of tangibly remembering some of the most happy times of my childhood and the special people who made it so. I can see my grandmother’s smile as she watches me enjoy a tangerine with the juice running down my chin as I laugh with my cousins. I can hear my Aunt Opal telling us wondrous tales as she shoves a pumpkin pie into the oven. I recall my mother whispering her secret recipe for making the best pecan pies. The taste of the food on my tongue jogs my memory and releases happy feelings that tell me just how wonderful my life has always been. It really is a great time of year to be thankful as I remember and appreciate.

By the Light of the Moon

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Belarus Supermoon Lunar EclipseI love gazing at the heavens. Unfortunately I live in the fourth largest city in the United States and the proliferation of lights has made it rather difficult to see the stars in the sky. Only the moon and a few very bright orbs are able to overcome the competition from manmade illumination. When I was a child ours was a small town by most standards, surrounded by a number of farming and ranching communities which have now become heavily inhabited suburbs. I now have to drive a rather long way to reach a place where the stars at night are actually big and bright. Luckily the moon somehow manages to maintain its dominance over the night even where I live. As long as the clouds do not shroud it I am able to watch its phases cycle through a routine that is as familiar to me as the passage of the sun. I have never grown weary of looking skyward to see how the man in the moon is doing.

On Sunday evening I stepped into my backyard to watch an event that has not occurred since January of 1948, the year in which I was born. There in the sky was a bright and brilliant super moon so called because it appears to be much larger than the average full moon. That is because on November 14, at 8:59 Eastern time the moon orbited closer to the earth than it has at any point in over six decades. At that precise moment it was also as full as it ever gets.

My time zone prevented me from seeing the full effect of the super moon but I certainly got the idea. I found myself wondering if my mother or father had watched the super moon of 1948. They would not yet have known on that January evening that I would become part of their lives eleven months later. The seed that made me had not yet been planted but perhaps the idea of having a child may have crossed their minds. My mother often spoke of her natural inclination to have as many children as possible. She was in love with the idea of taking care of babies. She was only twenty one years old then and had a lifetime ahead of her. She would not have realized how difficult her journey would eventually become. She would have been filled with optimism, promise and perhaps a bit of romance. The world had ended a war not long before. She and my father were building a future that must have seemed as bright as that moon. I’d like to believe that they stood together holding hands, gazing at the night sky with great hope.

Who knew sixty eight years ago that we humans would one day walk on that very moon? How might anyone have imagined the changes and the progress that we have wrought? The era of television was not yet upon us. The idea of computers was still the domain of scientists and engineers. Telephones were tethered to outlets on the wall. Cars were devoid of seat belts and air bags. College degrees were the exception rather than the rule. Women still mostly stayed at home tending the children and the house. On warm summer days homes were cooled by fans that stirred breezes from open windows.

I would experience the sixty eight years of rapid change. I knew about the before 1948 only from books. I lived all of the time after from day to day as I grew from an infant to a teenager to a young adult to my middle ages to a senior. The progression has not always been smooth. There were times when the world appeared to be on the verge of a seismic shift, particularly when I was in my high school and college years. Most of my childhood was spent in a Cold War with the Soviet Union. I observed my elders worrying that there might one day be a nuclear holocaust. I watched the end of segregation unfold and spied on heated conversations between the adults who were part of my life. I boldly formed my own opinions and almost dared anyone to contradict my beliefs. I became my own person just as children have been doing since the beginning of time and will continue to do long after I am gone.

The day came when I was a young twenty one year old holding the hand of the man that I loved. I have been more fortunate than my mother. I have had the joy of growing old with him. He has been by my side through every phase of my adult life. We have shared the joys and the disappointments of living. We raised our children and eventually greeted our grandchildren. We have said goodbye to family members and friends who have died. We have grown in wisdom and understand the importance of counting our blessings and cherishing the moments that we have because we know that life is uncertain. The moon will circle our globe and we will move around the sun with regularity but all else might change in the blink of an eye. There is no time for taking our joys for granted.

The moon is beautiful whether it is the smallest of crescents or full. We associate it with humankind’s emotions. It is the stuff of legends and lore. It may engender romance or lunacy. On nights when it is at its peak it signals time for tiny creatures to engage in rituals tied to survival. Some believe that more babies are born during the full moon. Others insist that crimes and wars are more likely to occur on moonlit nights. Complaints of insomnia seem to increase when the moon is full. There are beliefs that more natural disasters occur under a full moon. Stories of old tell us of people who walked the night as werewolves or vampires. We somehow have a sense that the moon affects people much as it does the ocean tides.

It will be 2034 when the next super moon makes an appearance. By that time I will be eighty six years old if I manage to make it that far. I will know how things turned out with President Trump. I will have enjoyed watching my grandchildren enter their adult years and may have a great grandchild or two. Undoubtedly the world will have changed even more. The young men and women of the millennial generation will be running things. There will be new wonders invented that I have not yet imagined. Perhaps we will have found ways to keep our planet healthy. Hopefully I will not have to recall horrors or wars that have rocked our sensibilities but history cautions me to be ready for the unthinkable. Just as with the sun and the moon I will join my fellow travelers in the daily routines and rituals that move us slowly but surely into the future. I have enough faith in all of us that I truly believe that things will ultimately be just fine. It will be fun to watch history unfold even as I live it under the light of the moon.

No Greater Love

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

vietnam-wall-120-jpg

Greater love has no man that this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

I cannot even conceive of the courage that it must take to be a soldier. We all too often forget that many of our fellow citizens are in harm’s way in dangerous places even on this very day. They quietly pledge to protect our country and sometimes lose their lives in the process of doing a day’s work. Only last week a young man from Houston was killed in Jordan. He had attended Strake Jesuit High School and the University of Texas. He was known by his friends as someone who was fun and generous. He was bright and talented and had a whole lifetime of possibilities ahead of him and yet he chose to enter the military, an action that he felt was an honor and his duty. His friends and family grieve that he is gone and all of us should feel a sense of sorrow as well. It was for those of us that he never even met that he gave his life.

There were a couple of young men who went to my high school when I was there who died in Vietnam. One went to war shortly after graduating. He was a friendly fellow with an inviting smile. It broke my heart to hear of his death. The other soldier was brilliant. He had graduated from college and had a promising career but he wanted to help in the effort to maintain a democracy in South Vietnam. He too lost his life, a tragedy that touched me in a very personal way because his little brother was good friends with one of my siblings.

At the time that these two soldiers were killed it never occurred to me that theirs had been an act of love. I was too busy protesting the war and participating in rallies. I actually thought that they had been foolish to take part in the conflict. As the years went by I began to see their sacrifice as something sacred. I began to hold them in high esteem. When I visited the Vietnam wall on the National Mall I found their names and ran my fingers over the etching in the stone. I wept. I felt the love associated with what they had done. I spoke to their spirits and thanked them for their service to our country.

I came of age in an era of protest. I thought it noble and fitting to speak against a war that seemed unreasonable to me. It never occurred to me that it was so incredibly easy to do what I had done while the efforts of the soldiers who had been my classmates were monumental. It has been five decades since their passing. Their love of country inspires and humbles me.

I have a long time friend who served as a medic in that same war. I often think of the horrors that he must have seen as he fought to save lives. I suppose that I never expressed enough gratitude for what he did but I can imagine how important his efforts must have been to the soldiers who lived because he was there. I know that he never discusses those days. He came back far more serious and contemplative than he had been. His wife told me that he often had nightmares as he relived the battles and thought of the torn and bloodied bodies that he viewed.

We sit safely in our cities and towns and rarely think of what our fellow citizens of the military are doing. We complain about the unfairness of our country. We criticize and speak of being ashamed of our nation. We refuse to sing the national anthem or salute the flag. All the while the men and women of the Armed Forces are doing the heavy lifting that we don’t want to do so that we will have the freedom to make ourselves heard. They deal with uncertainties and danger as a matter of course. We all too often take them for granted, sometimes even neglecting them when they return home. Even worse is when we insult them by self righteously assuming that they are violent individuals who somehow deserve our scorn rather than our praise.

On this Veterans Day and everyday we should honor the present day military and those who once served. They are real heroes who deserve our highest consideration. They are mostly humble and silent about the work that they have done for you and me. They rarely bring attention to themselves. They will tell you that they were happy to be able to give back to the country and its people.

I see a great deal of whining in today’s world. People continuously complain about what they don’t have and tend not to count their many blessings. They take more note of slights than opportunities. They make degrading comments about our country, its leaders and our soldiers. They have little idea of how safe and secure they are because of the unseen, unsung men and women who are guarding us twenty four hours a day. They rarely think of our military if at all.

Take the time to remember our veterans and our Armed Forces today. Don’t just think of them. Thank them. They won’t ask for your gratitude but I can’t help but think that they will appreciate knowing that their efforts have not gone unnoticed. God bless them and their willingness to lay down their lives for friends that they don’t even know. There is no greater love.