|
I remember the hopping, furry brown
shapes slipping into our garden from
the encircling, waving golden
grass.
Appearing as if by magic onstage from
the wings, they hippity-hopped their
way around the smorgasbord that
was our Victory garden.
I remember our dog, Lady, racing to
scare away these intruders, who
vanished as quickly as they had
come, only to slip back again as soon
as the chase became wearisome.
I remember America.
I remember Scarecrow, walking down
the Yellow Brick road with Tin Man,
Cowardly Lion, and Dorothy.
I remember our scarecrow, in our
Cornfield, leaning into the blustery
autumn winds as they swept in off
the plains with the rich, earthy smell
that was the harbinger of the rain
soon to fall.
I remember the impunity with which the
crows perched on his outthrust arms
as he implored them to fly away.
I remember America.
I remember the campfires winking,
blinking their welcome in the forest's
gloom.
I remember the men there, like the
scuffed-up, downtrodden of Bible
fame, men who always had just
enough and could say, "How about
some Mulligan, boys? C'mon over.
The Mulligan's hot."
I remember the moan of the passing
freight whistle, reminding them of
their loved ones so far away,
reminding them of their quest, of the
need to move on... searching,
searching, always searching.
I remember America.
I remember sitting in the old wooden
rowboat on a sultry July day, the
surface of the small Wisconsin lake
showing us what a mirror should
really look like, as we ate sharp local
cheddar between two slices of white
bread, no mayo.
I remember concluding that fishing was
a sun-baked day spent feeding
worms to invisible fish.
I remember America.
I remember the motorlaunch as it
passed the breakwater, slapping into
the cobalt-blue ten-foot Atlantic
swells, outriders from Hurricane
Bertha's eye, Florida-bound some
110 miles southeast.
I remember entering the warm,
turquoise green of the Gulf Stream
and throwing out our bait for the
waiting hordes.
I remember concluding that deepsea
fishing was a day spent feeding small
fish to invisible, bigger fish.
I remember America.
I remember walking point for the Forest
Service trail crew in the Selway-
Bitterroot Wilderness Area, feeling
I was being watched, concluding that
I was a dumb, daydreaming
greenhorn and to get on with it.
I remember the feeling on the back of
my neck when the trail boss caught
up and asked if I'd felt a "presence",
that a cougar had been tracking me
all morning.
I remember America.
I remember the barren, rocky path,
worn into the very backbone of the
12,000-foot Continental Divide in the
Wind River Mountains.
I remember the clattering hooves of the
unseen goats as they raced away to
keep out of sight, the echoes of
their passage resounding from
neighboring peaks; the kreeeing cry
of the passing Golden Eagle adding
to the cacophony of echoes; the
inescapable icy blast from the nearby
glacier - all of it giving me shivers.
I remember America.
I remember the joy of exploring alone
the network of fresh-water rivers
that feed the southern Everglades,
with the profusion of swimming,
darting, flying shapes that
overwhelms my mind even today.
I remember watching in wonder as the
mother dolphin slowly herded her
newly-weaned calf downstream
towards the open Gulf from her
hidden, freshwater nursery.
I remember the momentary flash of
sunlight off the back of the oncoming
male, the father, as he raced
upstream, knowing in some mystical
way just when to leave the bachelor
pod that waited ten-or-so miles
offshore to rejoin his family at
exactly this moment.
I remember the awe as I slipped on a
mask and tumbled into the water to
witness this hidden moment, the joy
of the reunited cow and male, the
tentative-then-glad acceptance of his
father by the calf.
I remember thinking how this was a
family that would always be
together, always.
Oh, how I remember America!
I remember watching the slow-moving, gnarled knots of
old, dead wood, idly drifting towards the feeding
White Crane as it moved majestically, step-by-
cautious-step in the knee-deep water.
I remember the unhurried flap-flap-flap of his great
wings as the Crane lifted off and above the stalking
Alligator.
I remember America.
I remember wondering where my shiny
dime had gone that I left on the
lookout tower's only table.
I remember wondering how a small
shard of pale-green broken Coke
bottle found its way into the middle
of my lookout tower floor.
I remember three months later having
to say good-bye to the inveterate,
furry trader who had become my
friend.
Yes. I remember America.
I remember Panchi, my first bunny
friend who introduced me to a whole
new world, gone after just two years.
I remember the albino-white dear,
whenever I braved the day before
sunup, feeding with her fawn on my
hilly bayside lawn, who always
greeted me without fleeing... until a
hunter decided otherwise.
I remember the look in the fawn's eyes
as it searched for its mother.
This, too, I remember of America.
I remember the freedom of flying in this
land - flying here or there, as I
wished, when I wished.
I remember the thrill of leaving Mena,
Arkansas, going to 25,000 feet to
pick up a two-hundred knot tailwind,
to land at Teterboro... non-stop.
I remember making a twenty-minute
hop in Australia to the neighboring
aerodrome, and having to file and
get government clearance for the
flight.
I remember America.
I remember the odors of my
Grandmother's roast leg of lamb and
baking mince pie; of the steam from
Mrs. Happ's pressure-cooker valve
filling the house with the rich
promise of aged sauerkraut and big,
fat German sausages.
I remember Miriam's scrambled eggs
with Belly Lox and onions on Sunday
mornings; of coming home to the
smell of Mae's Southern fried
chicken, the priceless heritage from
her Great Grandmother and Alabama
cotton country.
I remember the San Jacinto Monument's
all-you-can-eat shrimp platter;
Durgin Park's baked Indian pudding;
and, Cuban coffee at any of the
shops along Flagler Street.
I do remember America.
I remember how I felt as the Siper
Constellation descended into Idlewild
and my first glimpse of Long Island
after three years in the Middle East.
I remember with a year in Asia behind
me how I felt as the ship arrived and
the skyline of Miami rose like a
refound Atlantis out of the sea.
I remember how at first we kidded about
"The land of the Big Green"; how we
learned to lovingly claim it ours, this
"Land of the Big Green".
I remember the tears in my eyes - both times.
Yes. I remember America... well.
And, finally, I remember America.
I remember being asked, "What is a patriot?"
I remember someone who has their own
memories of such things, who cares
enough to do something to protect
the memories, their own and those of
all others.
I remember thinking the least we can do
is to let our voices be heard with love
for each other, if nothing more than
for the principle of love.
I remember thinking we can all be
patriots.
This is what I remember about America.
|