Every blog has a purpose and the purpose of this one is more obvious from the title than the previous entry. Yes, the entries here will comment on an attempt at through hiking the Appalachian Trail. The previous entry, the preface, is vague about that. Beginnings are sometimes a bit vague on what is to follow. To be fully honest with you, reader – this blog is pure whimsy, an indulgence by one who loves written words and fancies he can string a few together to an end that resembles art. There is real work being done elsewhere, though, that is more substantial and carries more weight. You can learn more about that by following the links in the Blog Roll on this page.
But before you surf away, I’d like to tell you a very short story – a love story. It is about Percy and Lorena Winter whose tale spans sixty four years of commitment. He, Perc – he liked to be called Perc – once told me of walking over a bridge near Charleston, West Virginia one sunny Sunday afternoon and spying his future partner walking in the opposite direction with some other girl friends.
“I knew right then and there, she was the one for me,” he said, smiling, the memory still clear in his mind.
For Rene (pronounced like Reenie with all “e’s” long sounding) it was turning down one suitor who had vied for her hand for a long time and to whom she was engaged. “One night I dreamed of walking out of a church dressed in a wedding gown – alone. I knew then and there that Perc was who I was supposed to marry.”
Their sixty four year commitment makes me a bit ashamed that I married their daughter, Susan, much later in life after two failed attempts of securing that part of the American Dream. Susan would remind me here that that would have been very unlikely as she (she being “the right one”) still lived in West Virginia and I was in Wisconsin when we would first have been of marrying age.
Sixty four years is a long time and there are certainly many stories that could be told, but I promised a short tale. This tale comes at the end. Perc, an avid golfer who shot nine holes twice a week right up to that end, went out to the links in November four years ago and returned home not feeling good. A week or so later, he coughed so hard something inside tore. He died a few days after Thanksgiving.
Christmas was bound to be hard for Rene so Susan and I drove down to Charleston to be with her and help her sort things out. I cooked and did dishes as Susan and Rene gathered important papers, and went over the banking. Perc and Rene were not rich people. They had lived comfortably enough in their small bungalow on the side of a hill, and there was enough to see Rene through for some years. That much I knew already, but there was more to learn. They had been generous with what they had. Staunch Christians, they gave at church, of course, but they also gave regularly to secular organizations that sought to give services and medical help to those that missed out on the cornucopia that is America. Giving didn’t stop there. There had been no funeral for Percy Winter. He had given his body to the university in hopes that it could be used to educate those that aspired to be physicians.
I marveled at that, told Rene that that was a wonderful thing to do. We were sitting at the table in the kitchen, I think, over after lunch coffee. She folded her hands on the table and looked out into the room and took in a breath.
“Well,” she said. “We’ve always tried to do a little good in the world.”
She said it so quietly as if those words were but a shrug to say “Of course, it’s what everyone does after all.”
I felt myself smiling, my soul humbled to be there with Rene, to have played a round of golf with Perc, and to have been allowed to join their family through my marriage to Susan.
To do some good in the world . . . to help take care of one another.
The essence of those words – to care – are so central to all the world’s religions and all the great societies that have ever been that you have to wonder why we argue and fight one another at all. And, we all have given money at one time or another to our churches, synagogues, temples and secular organizations like the Red Cross or United Way, but it is never enough to end suffering. The needs of the world are great.
To do some good in the world . . .
I work at Northwoods Inc. of Wisconsin, a not-for-profit that helps people with disabilities and the frail in South Central Wisconsin by providing services and employment for them. Every day I have the good fortune to work for and with people who have made caring about others a personal goal. My career has been in communications and automation, 38 years. I support the Northwoods computers. It feels good to help out with Northwoods’ mission, but I want to do more. If that sounds grandiose or self-serving, I hope you can forgive me for the truth is that I can’t do it alone. I need help – your help.
I ask you to learn about Northwoods and “Where’s Craig” and in the spirit of caring, sponsor some of the 2,179 miles of my journey.
I may post here from time to time during the trip, but majority will be on the “Where’s Craig” blog since that is tied to this effort for Northwoods.
This walk is about more than just a stab at childhood fancy. It’s more than a singular effort; it’s about what we can do together. So, let’s do some good in the world.
Now go ahead, click away. I recommend the “Where’s Craig” link on the Blog Roll.
Lodestone 