So How Lucky Is a Wishbone?

It’s amazing what you can learn watching Jeopardy or reading their website. Who knew that one of my favorite Thanksgiving customs ties back to the ancient Etruscans who considered chickens and this oddly shaped bone to possess good fortune. These are folks that settled in much of what is now Italy and possibly contributed to the founding of Rome. Yes, the custom of snapping the wishbone is an old one, imported from a distant culture and continent. Guess it resembles many American traditions.

Despite learning about Etruscans in world history and reading about their art in archeological journals, I had to look up this culture’s homeland. They occupied what is now Tuscany in Italy. According to one source, their civilization contributed to the founding of Rome. Apparently, they appreciated chickens, considering them and the distinctly horseshoe shaped furcula or two fused clavicles of this creature to bring good luck to the individual who won the longer side of the snap.  

Anything that brings good fortune is worth sharing. According to Alex Trebek, this ancient custom made its way to jolly old England and from there to the American colonies. Clearly, sharing chicken husbandry was important as well. In addition, the tradition translated over to even larger fowl, the turkey--a new world bird.

Early in my childhood, my mom whose heritage is predominantly from the British Isles taught my brother and I it was lucky to possess the longer piece of the wishbone after a contentious battle. Somehow my sibling, younger no less, examined that interesting looking bit of bone and cartilage and pre-determined the winning side long before the two of us began tugging with all our might to break it. After losing too many times, I, too, learned the secret and then the real war began to see who controlled which side of this odd lucky charm.

If we happened to be at a family meal with cousins involved, the competition stiffened. Ironically, where I fought obnoxiously to gain the upper hand at home, I was my brother’s biggest supporter if an older cousin challenged him. As it is in the political world, alliances shift in a flash depending on the opposition.

Just as mom shared this tradition with her kids, I carried it on with mine. I discovered, after baking and boning the turkey a day ahead of our feast, extra hours drying on the window sill sped up the time necessary to snap the wishbone. No longer did the taller, usually stronger sibling have the advantage of exerting extra torque on soft cartilage and bendable bone. The sad news is sometimes we forgot the bone where it lay drying, delaying our fun until after the holiday.

Upon viewing Jeopardy’s presentation just before Thanksgiving, I was struck by its irony.  Etruscans considered this bird and bone to be lucky. So did the English and later Americans. Looking at it logically, I’m not sure chickens would agree. After all, they must die to provide the bone. Like a rabbit whose foot is carried for good luck, the contributor isn’t all that fortunate.

Band of Brothers: Beloved and Celebrated

This year’s Veterans’ Day--a reflective time since so many family members have served our country—has passed. This one was more poignant than usual after I listened to a former student and current soldier speaking in honor of the occasion. He reminded me I’m blessed to know him and other young people who answered our nation’s duty call.

In his opening, he shared what he most values and loves, which is family--including fellow warriors. His respect and fondness for those he trained and served with in the 388^th rang clear and true, making me think of Shakespeare’s lines in King Henry V, “From now until the end of the world, we and it shall be remembered. We few, we Band of Brothers. For he who sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.”

At the time he enlisted, so did many other western Kansans. A number of Ellis students in that four-year period joined the military, uniting to protect country and loved ones.  Many trained together and later deployed to the Middle East. Almost all still serve America in some fashion. When I see their FB posts, I think about their shared childhoods and history in the military. These new pictures of mature men and women make it difficult to recall them as youngsters who procrastinated endlessly over giving speeches or writing papers.

Several years ago, one former Ellis grad spoke at a political function in Phillips County. Like many students in public school, English and speech weren’t his favorite subjects. Imagine my pleasure while observing him present an enthusiastic, poised, well-organized presentation. I talked to him afterward and asked what he’d been doing post high school and active duty. At the time, he worked as a political advisor where public writing and speaking were keys to success. He shared a story about a classmate and fellow soldier who majored in English. That individual ended up ranking above him in their unit and insisted this former classmate rework reports until they met specifications, skills contributing to the speaker’s current employment. I chuckled to myself that some of the blood this band of brothers shed might resemble blue or black ink.

Many members of the 388^th Medical Battalion Reserve Unit have earned advanced degrees or certifications. Several are authors and professors. Not only did they back each other in combat zones, they encourage one another’s home front success. I have no stats, but I’d guess this group has earned more than the average number of degrees or advanced accreditations. This explains how the gentleman giving the FHSU Veteran’s Day speech crossed my radar. He’s in school accomplishing a goal.

These soldiers have done more than serve their country. They’ve brought out the best in one another and modeled the meaning of strength.  While bravery during battle is part of the that definition, sometimes it means standing before an audience, telling them how much you love your wife and how her commitment has allowed you to perform your duties well. I’m proud to know many of the brothers and sisters in this particular band. Western Kansans have much to celebrate.

Masters of Everything and Nothing

Dramatic stories of natural catastrophes fill newsfeeds almost daily. Earthquakes, floods, fires, hail storms, tornados, and hurricanes dominate headlines, reminding us that humans hold little power over weather and geological activities.  Discussion of recent events led to an emotional discussion during art class the other day. Eventually our group wondered how people who lived here before us handled such phenomena when they occurred during their lives?

Depending on how far back we’re talking, we agreed that many of those individuals lived migratory lifestyles. It made me think about what I know about native people of the Great Plains.  Using human, horse, and dog power, they transported tanned hides and wooden supports used to construct temporary homes with them as they followed wildlife herds. These creatures provided not only food, but also materials used to construct homes, tools, bedding, and clothing. Their Walmart had hooves.

The nature of these transient beasts meant they constantly moved, seeking grasses that thrived across this region from Texas to Canada. Herds large enough to darken the plains for miles quickly devoured this solar generated calorie resource. When the grass was gnawed to the ground, they moved shifted locale, leaving it to regrow before their next pass through the area. As a result, humans whose lives depended on the great, shaggy beasts packed up and trekked after them.

While some imagine the hardships of such a life, researchers tell us it was beneficial. Food was fresh, and tribes usually abandoned camp long before human wastes fouled water and soil that sustained them. As part of nature’s cycles, they understood the waxing and waning of the moon as well as the always changing seasons. They knew where their food and resources came from and how to preserve them for later use. They were more in touch with the realities of existence than modern urban dwellers.

Like us, they were susceptible to natural disasters. Oral histories and records kept on animal skins reveal accounts of apocalyptic events. The difference is that their mobility encouraged a high degree of adaptability. Reconstructing a hide tipi required resources and labor, but it didn’t require a lifelong mortgage to replace it. Because they moved where game moved, fire meant a lost season of grass in one locale, not a lost herd that had to be rebuilt--if finances permitted.

When such events occurred, whole tribes moved on, lending support to the weakest in the group. They maintained their cyclical behaviors until cultural conflict made that impossible. Equivalent catastrophes today often isolate individuals or families who then depend on strangers or impersonal government entities to help them rebuild lives. Not only do people lose homes and possessions, businesses, farms, vineyards, and ranches succumb to raging floods and flames. Lifetime dreams vanish overnight.

While technology and civilization provide temperature controlled climates inside four walls, it’s worth considering what modern humans give up to enjoy such comfort. Unless we consciously contemplate our relationship with nature and its pros and cons, it’s easy to think we’re the masters of the universe. That is until a natural disaster reminds us we aren’t in control of anything but how we respond to what happens to us.

Mother Nature and Her Wily Assassins

Conspiracy theorists need to investigate Mother Nature’s actions against trees in Western Kansas. Yes, she’s conspiring to make this a treeless plain once again.

Western history buffs often read descriptions of the region called the Great American Desert. Explorers Zebulon Pike and Major Stephen Long documented journeys across this landscape, noting its aridity and incompatibility with agriculture. A lack of trees supported their conclusions.

Despite the region’s general absence of foliage, wayfarers noted groves along rivers and streams, naming several camp sites Big Timbers. Clearly, the soil wasn’t insufficient. More was involved. Those who came to stay observed fire’s role in eradicating trees and shrubs.

Great thunderheads built up on the horizon then as they do now. When lightning bolts arced and contacted dried prairie grasses, flames raced unimpeded across the landscape, searing emerging seedlings and delicate saplings.

 To encourage buffalo migrations, some researchers explain that natives utilized fire to encourage tender grasses to sprout. Between lightning and manmade fire, trees struggled to survive.

That said, photos of western Kansas communities in the early and mid-1900s reveal flourishing stands of elm, ash, cottonwood, and hackberry. Towering trees shaded neighborhoods, hiding structures and yards from photographers. More recently, property owners have included pines in landscape designs.

If you compare images from earlier times to now, they’ve changed. What happened to the dense greenery shielding rooflines and sidewalks from camera lenses? Not fire, but dastardly, insects! That’s what. Mother Nature doesn’t want western Kansans to enjoy shady siestas or hear wind soughing through leafy branches.

After settlement, families planted trees and controlled fire. Combining these practices led to aerial shots of shady lanes and sheltered yards.  That is until beetles invaded this continent to wipe out one tree after another.

Once hardy Dutch elms dominated neighborhoods across America. Now healthy ones are impossible to find. Walk through town and note tattered remnants of a once thriving population. It’s hard to think of small insects as assassins, but as their numbers multiplied elms withered.

While concerned about these striped beetles, western Kansans didn’t panic. Ash trees grew well, providing stunning fall foliage as well as hardwood to warm winter hearths. That is until the emerald ash borer, another Asian invader, arrived. In its native land, its populations didn’t grow out of control. As an uninvited guest, it’s multiplied until most American ash trees risk annihilation. Mother Nature clearly intends to vanquish prairie arbors.

Clever souls tried to outwit her by introducing Scotch and Austrian pines. Initially, it seemed a good strategy. Dense windbreaks protected yards, parks, and cemeteries while beautifying them. Then, (hear the Jaws theme in your mind) pine sawyer beetles arrived to alter the story.  Traveling from tree to tree, this invasive species introduces a nematode that weakens trees. Needles turn from green to tan, signaling a tree’s impending death. It can take only 6 weeks for the disease to destroy a mature evergreen. This killer is very efficient.

As the region’s tree numbers dwindle, it’s clear Mother Nature’s killers labor unceasingly. Insects have assumed fire’s role as destroyer. Clearly, it’s going to take more than a desire for shady respite to outwit this gal and her team of wily assassins.

Time Well Spent

Art day in grade school was so much fun. I looked forward to it all week and could barely contain my excitement through morning lessons. Throughout lunch, I’d mull what we’d create when the teacher told us to clear desks for art. My favorite activity was painting, but coloring, gluing, forming clay, whatever hands-on mess making was a hit as far as I was concerned. Art time meant dabbling, creating, and chatting with nearby classmates. What could make it better?

Well, as an adult, I have an answer. Sip or snack and paint class for grownups. The sponsoring artist provides the easel, paint, brushes, and canvas, while students bring beverages and treats.

Several area artists have discovered they live in communities filled with wannabe Picassos. They’ve learned they can offer classes several times a month and teach others to enjoy capturing a scene on canvas. Friends even plan birthday parties and showers involving such activities.

I’ve attended sessions in different area towns and enjoyed every one. In the hours leading up to class, I build the same anticipation that kept me on the edge of my grade school seat. My mind rehearses familiar questions: what are we going to paint, will it be hard, how can I avoid a mess, who’s going to sit nearby, will I like the finished product? Some personality traits never go away, and these have remained mine for decades, even those where I never touched a brush.

No matter whose class you take, teachers understand student limitations and the old adage that nothing succeeds like success. Every course I’ve seen advertised has a great picture for students to paint. Sometimes they focus on scenes involving trees, clouds, sunflowers, water, or farmsteads. Holidays offer options from pumpkins and black cats to big-eyed owls to trees silhouetted against a haunting full moon. Thanksgiving scenes involve everything from autumn leaves to jolly turkeys. My favorite’s Christmas snow men. These whimsical characters might be skating, sledding, trimming trees or even standing on their heads. I enjoy such charming and colorful scenes so much I could paint them year-round.

I credit instructors with setting up the perfect get together. By the time we “artistes” arrive, they’ve arranged plastic protected tables, canvas on easels, paint brushes, Styrofoam plate palettes, and paper towels for messy pupils. They’ve finished at least one if not more demonstration pieces that model what the end result’ll look like if students follow directions. It’s fun to listen to everyone’s remarks as they anticipate the task before them.

It’s interesting how a special energy happens when creative spirits unwind and loaded brushes starting slapping canvas. When colors fill in forms and designs take shape, everyone relaxes. Breathing slows as folks capture key elements of the painting. As participants relax, stories and laughter emerge, adding to a perfect event.

Thank goodness, local artists invite dabblers into their studios and offer opportunities to rediscover joys found in grade school art class. For some, this’ll be their only painting experience, for others this is aspringboard to more advanced skills. Regardless, it’s time well spent.

Rural Schools: A Perfect Fit for Skilled Labor Training Movement

Everyday my newsfeed runs articles supporting rural communities. I also subscribe to Mike Rowe’s of Dirty Jobs fame posts where he reveals America’s need for skilled, hardworking employees. Mike explains such occupations pay well and require less education debt than do four-year degrees. For the good of individuals and the nation, he advocates interested Americans master a trade to earn a competitive salary.

Many of my former pupils chose this route and tell me they make far more money than I did as a teacher. As one who earned a living doing what I loved, I celebrate such accounts. One of my first students, who ironically isn’t that much younger than I, shares frequently that he loves his auto body career and how it enables him to provide well for his family. It’s not all gravy. He mentions ongoing expenses for equipment updates and physical wear and tear. Despite these challenges, his skilled training didn’t leave him deeply in debt and afforded a lucrative paycheck for fulfilling work.

I could tell more success stories, but space is limited. Instead, consider how long it takes to get a plumber, electrician, HVAC tech, carpenter, or carpet layer to provide non-emergency services. I waited a year for floor covering. I’ve waited weeks to hear a plumber’s knock at my door or get my car tuned-up. These folks are busy. They could work 24 hours a day and still have customers waiting.

So many of our students grow up on farms and ranches or in towns where residents value and model a strong work ethic. What changes we can make in local school systems to better prepare more young people for skilled trades?

A Japanese practice is worth considering and adapting. Their schools teach an appreciation for labor by rotating all students through jobs in the kitchen and cafeteria. Students learn about serving as well as cleaning after others. Youngsters assigned to janitorial duties practice facility maintenance. I imagine country school attendees recall performing such duties during their school years. It’s beneficial to understand how systems work and what it takes to maintain them.

As students, parents, and school officials consider possible curricular changes, I hope they focus on fundamentals that translate into critical thinking skills. Every worker/voter/citizen needs to analyze data well. Everyone should read expertly enough to question text. Math skills require more than drill. One of the best math and physics teachers in western Kansas also utilized his skills to roof houses and build upscale homes.

Humans require experimentation to discover interests and talents. Many young people don’t explore them until they graduate. Can educational systems jump start these investigations as early as grade school? Can kids practice critical academics with a hammer, surveying tool, or water purity sensor in hand?

Santa Fe Indian School would say yes. Instructors teach native students to perform scientific and mathematical calculations as participants survey boundaries and assess water quality. They use writing skills to produce professional reports and media releases.  

Fortunately, rural schools are natural sites for practical education. Low student numbers guarantee involving every youngster in activities from growing and preserving food to publishing documents to performing maintenance tasks on facilities and vehicles to using CAD to design untold possibilities. Many districts have construction programs that produce tiny homes to full-size residences.

The challenge requires systems to teach fundamental as well as trade specific skills. Individuals need a springboard to further academics or to occupational training. Schooling shouldn’t limit possibilities; it should expand them.

While big cities create magnet schools to provide such offerings to select students, rural communities can educate every child in such a way that honors knowledge, interests, work, and promises little towns have skilled laborers to make their world operate.

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Rural Medicine: The Best

During four decades of living in Kansas, our family, like most in the region, has spent time recovering in a local hospital. Those visits provided an opportunity for reunions with acquaintances and former students while they helped us heal. Recently, Mom was a patient for 11 days in a rural hospital. Several weeks of outpatient therapy and treatment helped her rebuild strength and coordination. After watching these meetings between mom, me, and past pupils or friends, my brother who lives near a large Texas city commented several times that if he needs to be hospitalized, he wants to come to our hospital. He mentioned several times how lucky we are to have people who know us caring for our mother.

Part of our story involved a 911 call and an ambulance. Mom’s primary care provider showed up with the ambulance crew who arrived swiftly, assessed the situation, and applied necessary heart rate and oxygen monitors. Mom who was distressed to be not only ill but in need of EMT assistance was relieved to see that familiar face and hear his calming assurances. I second her feelings.

Once in the emergency room, nurses, physician assistants, and doctors coordinate efforts with lab and x-ray techs to identify specific patient needs. Sometimes this means staff members are on call at night or over weekends. In a scary situation, it’s a blessing to have someone you know caring for your loved one. Seeing a long-time friend’s wife, who’s also the mother of former students, smile as she collected Mom’s lab work soothed my spirit.

These little reunions occurred time after time during our loved one’s hospital stay. Former students are now registered nurses, and it’s a thrill to see them as adults in their professional roles. As their teacher or coach, I’d seen hints of their future talents. How gratifying to watch them in action as they inserted or removed IV lines, gave breathing treatments, monitored Mom’s vitals and medications, and assured her she was on the mend.

Many of mom’s friends and acquaintances also work at the hospital and made it a point to drop by and encourage her progress. When it came time to check out, these staff members helped us navigate paper work and follow up services. Their expertise helped us figure out the best plans for mom recovering at home. All made it clear we could call on them if we ran into questions we hadn’t considered. I can see why my brother was so impressed.

We’d been impressed with the quality of the food mom received during her stay.  When check out time neared, dietary staff introduced us to a reasonably priced meals-on-wheels plan which made the transition easier for mom. They even included me in their deliveries while I stayed to help her recover. It was assuring to know we had a tasty, well-balanced meal we didn’t have to cook during weekdays.

Support staff cheered mom on as she regained her health. Not only did she look forward to their smiles and cheery comments during her outpatient visits, I did too. As fellow community members, they offer encouragement and comfort to those struggling through unfamiliar medical issues.

Health scares are just that—frightening. Because we live in rural Kansas, local caretakers soothe some of that concern. My brother is right—such care is priceless. I hope our politicians help to keep our local clinics and hospitals open.