Musings from Deeptime

 November 2, 2023, ano 4 Autumn is for remembering; The Creek and Me (2) I have learned memories are slippery things and can be very far from faithful as a record of the true event. As I recently put some of my childhood memories to pen, I have come to realize what a significant role “The Creek” played in my childhood. Having access to a creek that flowed year around and the ability to spend hours and hours exploring it unsupervised, taught me valuable outdoor skills, but more than anything else let me engage my imagination and over stimulate my curiosity. The town I lived in was located where the glaciers of the ice ages advanced and retreated numerous times, depositing thick layers of alluvial soils, and left behind numerous lakes, potholes, and wetlands. At the time Indiana was surveyed, the area was covered with deep forests, open grasslands (more to the west), and loaded with wildlife. N Indiana was at a crossroads of trails and towns of semi-migratory Indian tribes, in fact, our

11/1/23, Why do I write? bobb I write; ~To organize and scrutinize my thoughts. Written lies, deceptions, exaggerations, as well as slippery words, veiled  hate, jealousy, envy, are easier to spot and correct when viewed as written word. ~To provide a record of my accounting of my speech and actions. ~To harvest from the life I lived, wisdom gained, knowledge winnowed, and insight into the inner man, his strengths and weaknesses.  ~To step out of the passive and into the active, by use of illustration, put into words that can be understood, warnings, possible consequences, the actions of others may bring upon themselves. ( As well as the reward of having “done the right thing”.) ~To record my search for deepening my understanding of Being a Follower of Christ. ~To be a voice for and an encouragement to those who have stumbled, who have little to no voice, few if any friends, who are burdened with responsibilities they struggle to fulfill, in a space that is not a friend to their exist

 11/1/23 ano 4 Autumn is a time for remembering Memories The Town and Me, It was a huge blessing to have lived my childhood when I did and where I did.  It wasn’t a case of “white privilege” or wealth or special schools, or anything like that.  I, like a young seedling that, by chance, germinated in just the right soil, at just the right time, and received just the right amount of sun and rain, got off to the best possible start to life a person could hope to have.  Was it perfect?  Far from it, I still wince at some memories of that time and place. I think the move in the mid ‘50s, from the southside of Chicago to a small town in north central Indiana a few years after I was critically burned played a major role in salvaging my mental health from the trauma I had experienced.  The towns, hamlets and farmsteads were islands surrounded by cultivated fields and woodlands, and yet-to-be drained wetlands.  Back then you didn’t travel as much , at least compared to today, so in a sense you