A Shadow ‘Cross Our Land

Our world was full of light and truth, of joy and children’s smiles,

And then it breached our borders fair with stench, grotesque and vile.

In first our cities tall and strong, where scrapers reached the sky,

A wave of darkness pressed along which would our metal try.

It crept along suburban lanes where families played in peace.

Until their joy was turned to fear, as parent’s trials increased.

It’s moved across the deserts low, passed o’er our mountains grand.

It threatens every girl and boy, each woman, every man.

It turns men’s hearts as cold as stone, makes foes of cherished friends.

As mothers, dads, our youth and mates fall to it’s wicked trends.

It creeps along a solid front, which closes on our time.

Producing naught of helpful gain, promoting filth and crime.

It’s time to stand against it’s wrath. We must press on the fight

If we intend to make a stand as beacons in the night.

If we, at heart, still hold the good, of what our lives stood for,

We must in strength refuse to give when darkness fronts our door.

We must unite our beacons bright and light the shadow’s front.

Reach out to clutch the many souls for whom the shadow hunts.

We must, the saved, their beams enhance and add them to the fray,

So others wandering lost inside can see to find their way.

And though it may appear at times our battle may be lost,

We must with sword, concern, and truth, fight on at any cost.

For if we stop to rest awhile, though weary is our band,

Each moment which we’re from the fight, the shadow crosses land.

The land which we hold near our hearts, for which brave men have died,

Will be entombed in evils black, affecting all inside.

So stand for good with strength and pride in hopes that those who see,

Will join the battle, full of zeal, and fight to keep us free.

Free from the shadow’s drugs and hate, from evil’s gripping hold.

Until as was in early days we stand upright and bold.

Until we push the shadow back and fill our land with light.

Renewed in strength, America, reflecting all that’s right.

P. F. Kuhlmann

23, March 1997

 

Living In the Interface

The view from outside my window for the past several days has been dull, hazy and gray. Everyone in our family has a dry throat and several have a coughs. For the second year in a row we have been subjected to the smoke being belched into the air by uncontrolled Wildfires burning in the great state of California and this year in Oregon too.

We live in a rural valley where the wind blows regularly and the air was clear. The night sky, once dotted with thousands of stars and a view of the Milky Way is now a nondescript canvas of dark gray. The view is not my concern.

The local news reports “As of noon time on Monday, The Utah Department of Environmental Quality (UDEQ) says Davis and Carbon Counties are listed as unhealthy for sensitive groups and Salt Lake, Tooele, Uintah, and Cache Counties have moderate air quality.The DEQ says folks with asthma or heart disease are advised to limit time outside.”Most of the smaller Utah counties, like ours, do not have monitors so UDEQ's warnings rarely list us as problematic. While we have in fact been under a blanket of smoke for weeks, and were in a similar situation last summer. Their warning misses those with emphysema, allergies and other conditions that can be immediately affected by increased particulates in the atmosphere. While I am concerned about those with immediate impacts, that is not my only concern.

The Federal Government owns overly large tracts of land in the west. Those tracts have been mismanaged for decades and even now the BLM and Forest Service would rather spend millions fighting wildfires than invest those funds in mitigating fire in our forests. States like California would rather we spend millions fighting wildland fire, while they gain millions in tax money and handouts, bowing to developers high density plans in unsuitable areas. They are slow to adopt and enforce wildland codes that prohibit construction in the interface, or enforce codes which require adequate safe space between the wildlands and buildings, or adopt and enforce building set backs to limit fire spread between structures. The result each year is hundreds of homes being burned to the ground.

Yes we are in a drought. I have lived in drought conditions more often than not since I moved west. During times of drought wildland mitigation becomes even more urgent. In our area it is not uncommon to see prescribed burns as a means of managing wildfire. These may
work to an extent, but at what price for those forced to endure the multiple days of smoky skies that attend such activity ? There are other ways.

In the 1950's as our government tested nuclear weapons in the Nevada desert. Southern Utah citizens watched unaware and uninformed by their government of the hazards. Soldiers stood in the desert to experience the affect, oblivious to what the future would hold for them and their posterity. Decades later thousands began to show the affects of those tests, even though their government lead them to believe they were safe. My greatest fear is this; what affect will inhaling all this smoke have on my grandchildren? Are they destined to be the next down winder generation ? I am sure the powers that be would tell me that is not a concern even as they tout man caused global warming as a threat and prohibit cigarette smoking in public establishments.

We need a study, conducted by someone other than, and not funded by, our government. How much particulate and CO2 are put in the air by our uncontrolled forest burns ? How much does it contribute to man made global warming ? How safe are our children living under the gray cloud of Federal Forest mismanagement ? What are the likely long term results of exposing western children to the volumes of smoke being generated each year ? Without answers the future of our western children and their families remains in doubt.

 

A rich man stood atop a hill

And looked across his land,

He sat inside his mansion grand

And judged all at his hand.

For all his earthly wants and needs

Were more than satisfied,

Except he had no family here,

No friends, no kids, no bride.

Well if you did compare my wealth

With all he could display,

I think that from a worldly view

You’d find to your dismay,

That I could not produce the total

Cash or land or jewels,

To match the many valued things

o’er which the rich man rules.

But I don’t measure what I have

By standards set by men.

And I would not trade mine for his

Or even his times ten.

‘Cause I have comforts in this life

Which can’t be bought or sold,

They’re treasures which I’ll take from earth

And will forever hold.

They are my loving parents

and the family I have known,

The wife who warms me night and day

And children small and grown.

The memories of times I’ve had,

There’s no way you can tell,

Just how much They’ve enriched my soul

Their warmth you can not quell.

The many blessings I’ve received

In life I can not count.

There’s no way with earths worldly goods

Their value you’ll surmount.

I can’t express my thanks enough

To God high up above,

For all the spirits sent on earth

That share with me their love.

So though he may have millions

With his jewels, his land and gold

I don’t think I would trade him, not

For all his wealth untold.

For when my time is over

And I answer to God’s call,

I know I’ll find that here on earth

I’m richest of them all.

P. F. Kuhlmann

Everyone needs something to provide a guide in their life.  Some call those guides, Mission Statements.  Here's Mine.  It is my daily reminder of what should be important throughout my day.

My Prayer

The wisdom to discern my path is not all that I ask,

let strength of purpose lead me on 'till I complete my task.

Help me to see another's needs, to aid each time I can,

to learn to question only deeds and not condemn the man.

Suppress my tongue, alert my ears another's song to hear.

Teach me to lead with patience long and not compel with fear.

If men offend me by their acts, help me their good to see,

so if in turn I make mistakes, they'll suffer long with me.  

I pray Dear Lord, I'll live content until this battle's done.

Then I and those I knew in life would join Thee and Thy Son.

 

2019 Elk Hunt

I don't know why I put in to draw for elk this year. I have applied several times before when I was younger and prompted to do so by my son and/or brother. Both were avid hunters who passed away in 2016 and 2018 respectively. Perhaps it was habit, or some prompting from beyond, either way I knew my chances were slim. I didn't expect that with only eight preference points I would draw a tag in one of the most coveted areas in southern Utah. The Utah Division of Wildlife Resources allowed only 64 resident and 7 non-resident permits for the early season hunt on the Plateau, Fishlake/Thousand Lakes unit that year. The hunt takes place in mid September during the rut. Fifteen preference points give one a good chance of securing a tag, but eight gives you slightly over a 10% chance of success. Somehow I drew one of the two tags issued to someone with only eight points.

As I planned and began to prepare, it was with mixed feelings. Over the past 20 years my hunting and fishing companions had been my younger brother, Gary, and my eldest son, Tony, and neither would be hunting with me this year. It was an emotional time as I planned and scouted the area. Each trip to the high country brought back so many memories. Memories of times spent on earlier trips, hunting elk or deer, fishing Seven Mile creek, the beaver ponds and Gates lake. In earlier times we would spend a week or two camped on the Fishlake hightop, hunting elk or deer. We would hunt morning and evening and play cards, nap or fish in the heat of the day. On one trip I hunted in the morning with my oldest son, Tony and Gary Simonson, a close friend. As the day wore on and the elk bedded down in the thick timber we made our way to the beaver ponds. It was one of those rare times when it didn't matter what you threw in the water. We caught brook and cutthroat trout one after the other until the cool of the evening breeze got the elk up from their beds. My son was 14 years old and the memories we created are memories that will last me forever. It was that memory and so many more like it that would make this hunt an emotional roller-coaster.

I got a call from my brother-in-law Dave. He asked what I was planning for the hunt and told me that he and two of his sons, Chad and Jason, were planning on coming up and joining me. They did not have tags but wanted to join in and provide the hunting companions I was missing. Dave is a compassionate, caring man who, with my sister Cathy, cared for my dying brother for the last several months of his life. Chad and Jason are avid hunters who have hunted in Africa and other areas of the world and would be excellent companions who could add not only companionship, but hunting expertise. Their offer was welcomed. Dave and Chad would come up Friday evening and Jason would join us Sunday night. I talked to each and was grateful for their offer to join me and for their excitement in spending time together and enjoying the outdoors. They were positive about our chances of success and repeatedly told me we would find an elk to bring home.

I started by scouting the areas on the hightop where I had hunted in the past. My first scouting trip was to Neals Flat with Tony's two young sons, Tony and Sam. The high mountains had been blessed this year with an abundance of moisture. The meadow was painted in shades of white and lavender by blooming Columbines. The wildflowers were stunning. We parked at the end of the road and began the hike in to the flat. It started with a mild uphill climb but the altitude took its toll on me and the young boys who live on the coast of Texas at near sea level. Pacing ourselves we worked our way to the tree line
. I was surprised by the lack of elk sign as we continued to the upper meadow. The boys were excited and it showed as they talked almost continuously as we hiked on. I explained that talking would limit the number of animals we would see and they quieted down until they saw a doe and fawn. The excitement took over again and the continuous conversation began anew. The excitement was heightened when they found a cow skull, bleached by the weather and sun. Tony spotted it, Sam collected it and carried it all the way back to the truck. It how hangs on the fence at the ranch, a reminder of a scouting trip where the priorities changed from scouting elk to enjoying time watching the excitement in the two young boys as they discovered the wonders and beauty of the mountain landscape.

I continued scouting during the next few weeks, and was disappointed in the amount of sign and the elk I was seeing. It wasn't until the fifth trip to the mountain that I saw my first elk. We had scouted near Two Ponds, Brown's Hole and Cold Springs without seeing or hearing anything. We were approaching what should have been the start of the rut, but to date all was quiet; the elk weren't talking. On our way off the mountain we passed a truck parked along the side of the road, and Ian, Tony's 16 year old son, spotted the elk that the truck driver was looking at as we passed. We stopped up the road and walked back to get a better look. When the elk came into view there was a young four point bull and a cow on the edge of the trees. Ian swore that he saw a bigger bull as we drove past, but it had apparently gone
into the trees by the time we got stopped. Still no bugling or cow talk.

The next day I continued the scout hiking from the spot where we saw the elk the evening before to Salina Reservoir, beautiful country, but no elk and still quiet. I Checked around Farnsworth, and Harves reservoir and Two Ponds and Cold Springs with similar results. The lack of elk sign and absence of vocalization was beginning to concern me. I returned to Neals Flat, hiked in and checked for sign. The absence of sign and the eerie quiet failed to produce any assurance of success in the coming hunt, now only three days away.

On the morning of the Thursday prior to the hunt I set out early to scout new areas. I drove to Oak Ridge and atop the high ridge at the end of the road I stopped and walked to the east rim. All was quiet. The forest floor spread out below me, covered with thick aspen, oak and brush. I sat listening and nothing. I pulled the diaphragm call from my pocket and cow called. Instantly I got an answer, a mild bugle. It was followed by a deep, bellowing bugle from farther away. As I continued calling my calls were responded to by no less than three bulls. One sounded substantially larger than the others. My spirits were renewed. Perhaps there was hope of seeing a bull in the coming days. I decided to set up camp that afternoon at Cold Springs. The calls were coming from Brown's Hole so I decided that would be the starting point opening morning.

After setting up camp at Cold Springs, that night I returned home. The plan was to return to camp Friday afternoon after Ian got out of school, cook dinner and prepare for the arrival of Dave and Chad. With my wife, Susanne's help, we gathered the necessary food and supplies, I touched base with Dave and his boys to let them know we were set up at Cold Springs and that I would have dinner ready when they arrived. Friday afternoon Ian and I headed to camp, set out the cooking equipment, the camp chairs and got things ready to start dinner. We then went fishing at the small pond at the end of the Cold Springs road, where we caught several rainbow trout prior to starting dinner. The weather was warm for the mountain in September, in the 60s. The leaves weren't changing yet, but the shimmering of the green leaves on the aspen as they reflected the evening sun in the cool evening breeze made me glad I was taking the time to get away and enjoy nature's beauty.

Friday night we made the traditional Dutch oven potatoes and added hamburgers to top off our pre-hunt dinner. Dave and Chad arrived towing Jason's side-by-side. We got set for the night and prepared for the morning's early start. As the sun set a full moon rose over the eastern horizon. Its glow radiated through the trees, casting eerie shadows around the camp. The bright moonlight made me wonder what affect the increased visibility would have on the behavior of the elk. Would they feed through the night? If so, what impact wound that have on their behavior tomorrow? Would they bed down at sun-up? We would see in the morning.

Five o'clock came early Saturday morning. Ian decided he wanted to stay in camp and go fishing so he slept in. Dave, Chad and I loaded into the side-by-side and headed to Brown's Hole. We drove through the dark until we reached the lower area of the valley and stopped the side-by-side. We sat in the dark listening to the silence and the wind blowing through the trees waiting for sunrise. Suddenly the quiet of the predawn was broken by the sound of a bull elk's bugle. It sounded like a good bull located some distance above us. My spirits soared knowing that we were at least in one bull's terrain. Just before first light we got our things together and began the stalk toward the last bugle. The valley was thick with aspen, oak and brush. It made for a difficult stalk as we moved forward stepping over dead fall trees with minimal visibility through the brush. We went farther and the brush and trees became more dense. Over the next rise, I thought, maybe it will open up. It didn't. We heard a single gun shot, and Chad struck out to see if he could find an opening in the brush. He did and saw a cow and six point bull moving through the brush away from the shot. They were heading our direction and his hope was that we would get a shot but they never came into view. We moved to the opening Chad had found and watched the hill across the ravine where the elk had run. Nothing else was moving so we decided to take the side-by-side and try to get in front of the elk. Our strategy didn't work.

Later in the afternoon we returned to Oak Ridge, above Brown's Hole. We called from the ridge and got an answer from below. Again the brush and trees were dense and visibility was limited. We walked the Oak Ridge Trail and listened, trying to pinpoint the location of the bull. He was well down the draw in the valley, the day was wearing on and after careful consideration we opted to call it good for the morning. We headed back to camp and had lunch. Ian wasn't there. When I checked he was still at the pond and was successfully fishing having caught several rainbow trout.

That evening we went back to Brown's Hole and decided to hike in on the opposite side of the draw we had been on in the morning, the side where Chad had seen the elk. The evening was beautiful but the wind was swirling. We hiked in to the area below where we had heard the bull from Oak Ridge. Nothing was moving or talking. Just before sunset we headed out cow calling periodically as we went. Half way back to the side-by-side an elk began to bugle. He stopped halfway through the bugle and we couldn't get him to respond back to us. As we made our way back, coming out, we spotted a couple of hunters hiking in. Likely they got too close and the bull quieted and noiselessly made his way away from us and them.

I left Saturday night after dinner to take Ian home so he could make school Monday. My plan was to get him home, attend church and return early Sunday afternoon. We paused on the way home repeatedly and listened for any elk sounds. All was quiet. The moon was full making it easy to see along the way. We didn't even see deer on the drive, which is quite unusual. We arrived home safe, while Dave and Chad stayed in camp, spending some dad and son time together.

When I arrived at camp on Sunday afternoon our prospects were looking up. Chad had texted me that the elk talk had increased and that they had heard elk in several locations near camp. As the evening sun dropped low in the sky we climbed the hill above camp, binoculars and spotting scopes in hand. We hadn't been there long when the first elk bugled from across Nioche Creek. As we sat and listened there were at least two larger bulls and several smaller ones along the ridge. The larger bulls seemed to be separated by about a mile, one right across from camp and the second further to the south. The deep tone and distinct growl lead us to believe they were worth pursuing. We listened and glassed the area. A lone cow came to water in the creek and a single 5 by 5 bull worked down by the creek through the timbers. As we discussed the plan for tomorrow we decided that in order to have a chance at seeing one of the bigger bulls we would have to go where they were. We would pack lunch, hike into the area from the bench to the north of the ridge and spend the day, hoping the wind would be in our favor and that the bulls would continue bugling in the morning. Jason arrived at camp and joined us on the hilltop. It was his birthday and Dave and Chad had picked up a cake in Richfield. We celebrated, got prepped for the morning and turned in.

The anticipation was high as we got up and moving. Old bones can take some time to get rattling before sunrise, but we were parked and headed to the north bench just as light was beginning to illuminate the terrain around us. As we moved toward the creek the silence was broken by a bugle. It was followed by another. We stopped and listened as bugles continued to echo from the very ridge we had decided to hunt as we listened to the elk the night before. Then a big, deep growling bugle came from the ridge. We looked at each other, acknowledging that he sounded like a big one. We worked our way across the bench and once on top headed toward the elk. He continued to bugle periodically as we hiked along. Once on the bench , the wind which was supposed to be blowing consistently from the south, began changing direction, first one way then another. The sky was overcast and sunlight filtered through only for short periods of time. We continued working toward the sound of the elk but it seemed that each time we crested a rise, he was bugling just over the next rise. One rise after another, the same scenario repeated itself, until we decided to take a break, have lunch and see if the wind would settle down. We dumped our packs, crashed out on the forest floor and waited.

If you have never laid down on the forest floor you might think it comfortable. It's usually not. It seems that you remove one stick or rock only to find another just in the small of your back, hip or some other uncomfortable location. With the overcast the ground was cold. Rest didn't come easy. The cold can filter through multiple layers of clothing, packs and even sleeping bags quicker than you would think, transferring the heat of one's body into the cold earth. I tossed and turned, moved locations, moved debris, all to no avail. I just couldn't get comfortable. I suspect the others were similarly affected because it only took about 40 minutes and we were ready to get moving.

The wind had shifted, coming down hill so we decided to go up. We had barely gone 300 yards when the elk bugled again. We pressed on in the direction of the sound and again the loud, growling bellow broke the silence. This time we seemed to be closing the gap. Dave and Jason decided that it would be best for them to hang back to lessen the noise and give Chad and I a better chance of getting close enough for a shot.  Chad and I talked and decided to try cow calling, to see if we would get a response. Chad sat just left of the game trail we were on and I put my back against a tree to the right and forward about 5 feet. Jason and Dave were behind us on the game trail standing separately and watching.  Chad let out a chirp, nothing. We waited and called again and waited. Eventually we heard a single cow call. We discussed whether to challenge the bull with a bugle, instead Chad cow called again. As we sat waiting, Chad whispered there's a cow. I couldn't see her. “She's by the Christmas tree” He was referring to a large fir tree in the midst of all the aspen. I still couldn't see her. As she walked past the tree she came into view, but if she had been a bull, I wouldn't have had a shot due the density of the trees. “There's a calf” Chad said. He could see a calf following the cow. I couldn't see it yet. Then excitedly, Chad announced “He's coming in.” “I can't see him” I whispered. “He's by the Christmas tree. He's Big” I didn't dare move too much, but I slid slightly to the right and leaned to that side. I still couldn't see him, but I could see the cow and calf through an opening in the aspen about 100 yards away. “He's following the cow” Chad reported, and just as he did the cow and calf moved off and the bull stepped into the opening. I shot and he humped up. I was pretty sure I had hit him in the chest, low near the shoulder. Then I though “You have a semi auto.” I was hunting with my old .30-06 Belgium made Browning Automatic Rifle. I squeezed off another shot and he humped up again. My third shot dropped him where he stood. Chad jumped up shouting, Dave and Jason joined him and it was high fives all around.

When we got to him I was in awe at his size. He was a typical 6 by 6 with a slight wave in one antler. Until that moment he was a survivor. As we approached I noticed a wound high on his back. It was a shallow puncture which lined up with one of the points on his rack. It was obvious that he had been fighting and another bull had turned his head far enough to drive the point into his upper back.

After photos were taken, I commented on how much my brother Gary would have enjoyed this moment stating “I wish he could have been here” It was then that Dave responded, “He is here.” He then told us that while he and Jason were back trail, he was standing alone leaning on a tree.  He said he felt sharp taps on his shoulder. They were distinct enough that he turned to see which who had snuck up on him and touched him on the shoulder, but no one was there. After realizing where we all were he got the clear impression that Gary was there and was letting him know he was with us. Gary would have let Dave know if he were around before he would have let the rest of us know. Dave provided end of life care for Gary and the two became very close. No one would have enjoyed our success more than my brother. As the elk was approaching Dave could not see it and did not know if we would get a clear shot so in his thoughts he was encouraging Gary to push the elk our way.  He heard my first shot and wondered if his encouragement to Gary had worked.  When I fired follow-up shots and he saw the downed elk, he was sure Gary had pushed the elk to me.

When we skinned the elk there was another puncture wound on the opposite side of his back. The wound channel was about 3/8” in diameter and about 14” long. It went through and through his back strap and had healed. There was another puncture near his shoulder on the side opposite to my shots. I wondered if it was an exit wound but it was rather small, perhaps a fragment. I stuck my finger in the wound to see if it penetrated and found a broadhead embedded in his shoulder. He was a survivor, at least until he walked into us. We dressed and quartered him and I packed his head and rack, while Chad and Jason each took quarters and Dave carried packs and my gun. We made it back to camp around 4:00 and caused quite a stir. After stopping at camp we were immediately set upon by several hunters in side-by-sides. The questions flew for several minutes. “Where did you get him”, “Is that the bull from this place or that place.” “How many preference points did you have to draw this hunt” When they left Dave commented that they too might be successful if only they would leave the seats of their side-by-sides to hunt. During the hunt we had seen several hunters seated in their vehicles watching a hillside and while we were stalking the elk we could hear the almost continuous drone of side-by-sides running the roads and trails. Chad and Jason hiked back in for the other quarters and were back in camp by 6:00. I volunteered to help but they let me know that I would only slow them down. Their youth and energy was greatly appreciated. I was beat.

If there is one thing I learned on this hunt is that to see big elk, you need to go where they are and be persistent. Fortunately on this early hunt, they were talking, and talking loud and often. That allowed us to know we were working an area where our chances of success we better than average. It let us continue to follow the sound until we were fortunate enough to see a big bull and get a shot at him. The value of family was reinforced as Dave, Chad and Jason took time out of their days, shared equipment, and expertise to help me complete a successful hunt. I think they knew I was struggling with the emotional impact of loosing my two hunting companions. I had been riding an emotional roller-coaster loving the opportunity to hunt but fighting memories of past hunts. Their help made this adventure possible and I will be forever indebted to them for their sacrifice on my behalf. One bucket list item down, hopefully, more to come.

BLAME WHERE BLAME IS DUE

M1 Garand

      I am at awe at the simplistic nature of the gun debate in America today.  To listen to the pundits one would think that the semi-automatic rifle was a new invention.  In fact, semi-automatic rifles and carbines have been with us for years, and they have been prevalent in our culture throughout my life.  Following war it was not uncommon for soldiers to return home with not only semi-automatic but fully-automatic weapons as a part of the spoils of war.  World War II brought us a host of semi and full- auto weapons which were either brought home from the front or released for civilian sale by the government.  The M1 Garand, in my opinion the best battle rifle ever developed, was released to civilian sales following the war.  Along with it came the M1 Carbine, the Thompson M 1921 and later the M14, all in semi-automatic versions provided to the public.   It wasn’t until the 1960s that the AR15 began to show up in the public domain.  It is now the whipping post of those who want to make an inanimate object take the brunt of the blame for societal decline.  To infer that a piece of metal and plastic is the cause of our recent tragedies is the height of naivety.  

      As a kid growing up I was surrounded by men who owned semi-automatic rifles, many more powerful than the AR15.  They leaned against the walls in closets, hung in pickup trucks and slept under beds in many homes.  Even though they were readily available and possessed by many, I don’t remember a single mass shooting in my youth.  I am sure that there may have been some, but they were rare in my younger days.  We had the gun, we had the man and we had life’s problems, but we didn’t see the violence manifested in our cities back then.  So what has changed?

M1 Carbine

      In my youth I was privy to acts of violence in the media.  I saw battles and gunfights depicted on the screen, but as I look at the movies, TV and entertainment of our modern day I see great differences.  Even though I was allowed to watch the violence depicted on the screen in my early years, I was taught that violence was a last resort to defend innocent life.  That value was reinforced in most of the movies and TV shows I watched.  Violence was often the tool of the villain.  Violent men were portrayed as evil and good men only used violence to stop evil, and violence was seldom graphic.  

      In today’s media villains are often shown to be almost heroic in nature.  They taunt those who pursue them and are portrayed as smarter, faster and somehow better than those who oppose their evil. The level of violence shown in today’s movies and on TV far surpasses the violence I was exposed to in my youth.  Yes, in my youth they didn’t have to reload a six shooter, but today’s villains in movie and TV shoot lead at their enemies and innocent victims at a rate that would bankrupt a Rockefeller.  Their pursuers in kind return fire randomly at a level that would leave the Lone Ranger staring in disbelief at their lack of concern for those innocent people in the background.  Many movies have little or no plot.  They begin with gunfire and violence which is carried throughout the movie until the final credits roll.  I find it unique that Hollywood and many of its actors, directors and financiers can openly demonize a chunk of steel while at the same time using it to the extreme to build their bank accounts.  They blame the gun for violence while simultaneously lining their pockets with the blood of innocent victims who fall prey to those small minded gremlins influenced by their violent productions.  It is my opinion that creativity and talent in the industry are dead or near dead.  Drama too often relies on graphic violence and gratuitous sex.  Comedy can’t be funny without sexual innuendo and vulgarity.  The talent in song, dance, and an actual story line are too often missing from today’s productions, and lesser more violent, vulgar remakes speak to the lack of originality in the industry. 

      In our world today our mentally and emotionally challenged and our youth are continuously exposed to influences that drag them down. I am glad that my children grew up with the likes of Danny Kaye to make them laugh, with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers to show them true talent, and heroes who only used violence to stop evil.  These characters were not from their generation.  They know them because we shared the talented performers of our generation with them by introducing them to good, clean entertainment.  We steered them away from the violent video games where today’s children and adults repeatedly kill in the most violent fashion to gain reward.  They kill victims who explode in a bloody mass when shot by the same guns that the industry insiders portray as the problem. They shoot, beat, run over and kill in multiple ways, hour after hour until their sensitivity and respect for life vanishes. 

      If you want to truly identify the problem you have to look beyond the object used to commit the violence. You have to look to those who would corrupt our society with violence for personal gain.  You have to look at the recent changes in our society that have been spawned by the very people who cry “Gun Control;” the people who for their personal gain have lowered the value of human life.  They are millionaires at the expense of our children, but no one dare challenge them.  It’s too easy to blame a whittled brick of steel wrapped in plastic.  It can’t argue with you. 

      It is a fact, born out throughout history, that when you take weapons from a society those who prey on society will still have weapons, and those who don’t have weapons will suffer at the hands of those who do. All you need do is look to the history of the Nazis, and Socialists governments, and to the south to countries where possession of a firearm is strictly prohibited by the public.  You can look and watch, south of our border, as gangs of heavily armed thugs, who are prohibited from possessing weapons, surround and enter neighborhoods and kidnap and kill at will, with guns.  The solution is not to disarm good people.  It is to restore the sanctity of human life, to recognize that there is good and evil in our world and to support the values that sustain good and confine evil.  In our society today we too often confine good and promote evil.  Until that changes we are doomed to continue to see violence, whether it is committed by frustrated, challenged drones responding to what society, through modern entertainment, has shown to be normal, or by gangs of miscreants who will prey upon us when we are disarmed.  The problem is not an inanimate object.  It is a society driven by money, and greed, no matter the cost; a society that embraces violence, lessens the value of human life and blames a gun for the outcome.     

There are few things in life which bring more joy, more worry, more pride, or more sorrow than one's family. As a young parent, I remember thinking that someday my children would be grown and on their own and I could relax and not have to worry about them. Guess again. They grow up, move out, have their own families and then they come back, suffer crisis, share their concerns and, fortunately, remain a part of your life. They are what life is all about. They share their triumphs, their dreams, their experiences and continue to share their lives with you. Family relationships are eternal in nature and endure throughout this life, and I believe into the eternities, and I am glad for that.

As I take inventory of my family, I am grateful for children who are talented, intelligent, and caring people. They are exceptional in their own individual ways. I have children who excel in leadership, who are patient enough to debug a computer program (that patience didn't come from me), who can sing, write, save lives, teach, play musical instruments, and do so many more great things. The are contributing members of society who show compassion for others, who speak their minds yet try to understand others, they contribute. They are examples to the children they love, and work hard to see that their children know they are loved and supported. As I watch them progress through life, I see them working to instill in their children the values which will helped make them successful. As I quietly stand back and observe, I am proud of the men and women they have become.

In the twilight of my life, I sometime allow my mind to wander back to the days when they were young. I see a collection of happy urchins playing in the mud, catching fish at Pine Valley (or some just playing with caught fish), entertaining themselves in front of an old VHS camera with imaginations that could stifle the likes of Spielberg, or Lucas. Those are good memories for me. There are times when I wish I could go back in time even if for just a moment; go back and just stand back and watch the energy of their youth and their love for each another.

As I quietly watch them today, from a distance, I see that youthful love continually expressed as they support each other. I realize with regularity how lucky I am as I see them comfort each other, share their resources when one is in need, and as they laugh and work together. Each one is following their own path, but they are still, unquestionably family. Their in no question about the love they have for each other and for us as their parents. They are exceptional and I love them with all my heart. I hope they never question my love or the special place they hold in my heart. I hope they know just how special they are and how grateful I am that they are my children.