Courage, defined

Every day we make choices. Most of the choices I make are inconsequential, like what to eat for lunch or what to wear. Some choices I have had to make in my life have been monumental (at least they were for me).  But I'd like to tell you about a man who made a decision on this day, 82 years ago that was not merely monumental, but for many, it was unbelievable.

In late November, 1932, the corn was still in the field in north-central Illinois. There was a trace of snow on the ground, but the crop was dry and needed to be harvested before the heavy snow of winter settled across the state. A young farmer, 26 by years, a veteran by farming standards, set out with his tractor pulling a mechanical corn picker.

The farmer was working alone in the cornfield when he stopped the tractor to pick out a husk caught in the gear. There was snow on the ground and his feet slipped, his arm plunging directly into the revolving rolls. The gear clutched his hand, mangled it, and started to pull his arm into the mechanism. The farmer gritted his teeth and shut his eyes.  He reached in his pocket with his right hand for his knife. He opened the blade with his teeth, and finally hacked away at the bone at the elbow. He shut off the motor and walked a mile to his brother's home. Climbing three fences en route, arrived to find no one there.  So he cranked the old-fashioned telephone and called his wife. "Send Dick with the car" he said.  "I'm hurt a little, but I'll walk up the road to meet him." The farmer, weary from his harrowing ordeal, found a long overcoat and draped it across his shoulders. He walked another half mile before he met his brother and his wife who took him to the hospital. The farmer had operated so skillfully upon himself, physicians said, that he lost little blood.  They predicted he'd be back farming in a few days.  "I hated to do it," the farmer said, "because I'll miss my arm. But it was cut it off or get killed.  So I cut."  Reading Times (Reading, Pennsylvania) 25 November, 1932

The story, an unbelievable act of courage and strength made the AP wire and was printed in newspapers across the country from Pennsylvania to California.

The farmer, was Archie Smith, and he was my Grandfather.  My Grandmother was pregnant at the time of the accident with the second of their eventual 5 children.  The baby girl, Susanne was born two months after the accident and died a few days after her birth.  My father wouldn't be born for another four years.   Some choices we make are inconsequential, some are monumental.

Dad & Grandpa

Grandpa would go on to farm for forty years after this accident.  Another accident with the same corn picker five years after the first took the four fingers on his remaining hand.  "Still the same gutsy fellow, he kept going." My grandma wrote in a short memoir. "He refused to get an artificial arm. Money was short then, the depression years, and he thought they cost too much money."

As we begin the Thanksgiving week, I am grateful for the courage of a young man, so many years ago, for his decisions, and by the grace of God, he survived that November day.   People have said that I'm strong, that I'm courageous for all that my body and mind have been through with my cancer treatment.  I give a nod to Grandpa and say thanks for passing on your genes old man.

May you all be blessed with love and peace this Thanksgiving week, and be careful out there.

The Tree of Life

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I spent a lot of time looking inward, reflecting on my life, and life in general.  I spent many hours on the chaise lounge in my back yard, recovering from surgeries, resting after radiation, managing fatigue.  I enjoyed looking up at the sky, watching the clouds drift by, letting time march forward as I sat mindfully enjoying the nature around me.

My neighbors had a tree in their front yard.  A stately elm that stretched and wiggled its roots under the powerful growth of this tree.  I could see this tree from my chaise in my back yard.  It reached up over the homes and kept an eye on me as I lay pondering life.

I came to love this tree.  It reminded me of a tree that stood over the driveway of my grandparent's farm home.

As years passed, I watched the tree grow.  As years passed, we watched a lesion in my liver grow.  I began to notice that one particular branch poked out above the others.  I could gauge the stability of my liver lesion based on the growth of this tree limb.  For an entire year, there was little change. Then suddenly, a growth spurt.  The limb grew further out from the tree and my liver lesion grew as well. We biopsied my liver, and even though the results were benign, my doctors kept an eye on my liver and I kept an eye on my tree. I began to call it my Tree of Life.

When I would walk by my Tree of Life, I would touch it and smile.  It had looked over me and I loved it in return. In 2011, the city came through and marked the tree.  The markings meant that the tree needed to be removed because of disease.  I began to cry... I continued to cry.  I knew it was the end of life for my Tree of Life, and the disease would soon ravage the tree. But I  was selfish, I wondered what I would do without my natural compass? It was odd, but I felt a little lost knowing I would soon be without it.

On the day they cut down the tree, I stopped and talked with the Woolsons, my neighbors whose house had been shaded by this stately tree.  Surely they had as much emotional investment in this tree as I did.  I told them my story and how I came to call the beautiful specimen My Tree of Life.  We stood together as the tree was cut down.  Slowly, I walked home feeling like I had lost an old friend.

This past month I turned 50.  While we were in Chicago celebrating my birthday my family decorated our front yard, and suddenly my whole neighborhood learned it was my birthday.  A week later, I came home to find a gift bag at our front door.  Inside the bag were two wrapped items.  I opened the card, it was a birthday card from "Your Tree of Life" (and the Woolsons).  Bewildered, I opened the first gift and my mouth fell open and my heart flooded with joy.  It was a beautiful cutting board with inlaid pieces that curved softly to the edges. "No Way!" I said with wonder as I felt the wood in my hands. "This cannot be!"  I tore open the wrapping on the second package and found an exquisite box, about the size of a shoe box.  Inside were 8 glass jars, waiting to be filled with spices, or jewelry, or precious mementos.

I knew instantly that my tree had come back to me, that these gifts were made from the tree by Paul Woolson, a luthier by trade.  http://woolsonsoundcraft.com/About/about.htm

I am overwhelmed that the Woolsons remembered my story and took the time to make something special for me from a tree that meant so much to me. These pieces were masterfully handcrafted by Paul and I am blessed by his generosity, his artistry, and his kindness.

My heart is full of joy. It makes me want to lay on the chaise in my back yard and think about life.

Why I Like Election Day - You May Be Surprised!

I love election day, but not for the reason that you might guess. I am grateful for the opportunity to cast my vote, to participate in democracy, to make a choice. But more than that, I like election day because it is a brief glimpse of what could be if we lived in a society filled with hope. Think about that for just one moment. A society filled with hope...

On election day, all sides are hopeful.  People are in a good mood, neighbors talk to each other, there is a buzz in the air...because all sides are hopeful. Hopeful for a better tomorrow.

Are you hopeful today?  I am. Hopeful for a society that can disagree without hatred. Hopeful for a society that can work together for the betterment of the whole. Hopeful for a society that treats everyone with respect. Hopeful for a society that celebrates differences without judgement. Hopeful for a society where people are accountable for their actions, and for a society that forgives mistakes.

I am hopeful today. I like to think I am hopeful every day... are you?

A Tree Sweater for the Wisconsin Winter

This is my tree, and this is how it will live through the Wisconsin Winter.  Yes, I have knit and crocheted every stitch, and so far I have spent ~6 hours on an extension ladder piecing together what I affectionately call my "2014 Tree Sweater".  I call this about 75% complete as I have a few more pieces to go high on the limbs.  

Technically, this isn't a sweater.  And it really cannot be called a yarn bomb because there was no secrecy to my project.  In reality, this is my sanity sweater.  Last year the Wisconsin winter was so cold and gray and long that everyone I knew had the most extreme case of cabin fever that I've ever seen.  As for me, I felt I would implode from the constant gray and bitter cold.  This winter, I will look out upon my maple tree and see bright colors looking back at me, reminding me of the whimsical days of spring, summer and fall.  

This isn't my first tree sweater, this is just the biggest. For the last three years I have knit a conservative, yet lovely little pieces that wrapped around the tree in November and removed in April.

2013 (c) Barbie Simons

2012 (c) Barbie Simons

2011 (c) Barbie Simons

What are you planning to help you through the cold winter?