This Troubled Land

     Chapter One

Daylight slowly pushed the covering darkness of the night away from the dew covered face of the land.  The rooster from the neighboring farm crowed triumphantly as the sun ascended into the sky, announcing the dawn, the beginning of a new day.  In the upstairs bedroom of an old farmhouse an old man dreamed in his sleep.  He dreamed of his own youth, lost much to soon, of the aspirations he had hoped for but not achieved, of sorrow. Overriding it all were scenes from his of childhood played again and again.  He rolled and turned, cried out now and again, never wakening as though not wanting to leave the dreams of his sleep.

     The steady drip, drip, drip, of water falling from the roof, remnants from the storm that rumbled through the county last night, at last awoke the Old Man.  He lay still in the bed, not asleep, but not yet fully awake.  The dream was gone, but the memory of it was there at the back of his mind.  He knew he had dreamed of long ago days and the voices from his youth, when life was simpler, before he was an old man and he dwelt on this.  As he truly awoke, the memories of the dream fell apart, retreated into the recesses of thought.  He shook his head, saddened at the loss but knowing now it was time to start the day, of course since he'd retired from farming there wasn't really anything pressing for him to do.  This wasn't what he'd planned on those years long ago, but very rarely does life work out the way one planned, not that he was bitter for the way life had treated him.  In fact he was grateful, still there was a feeling that gnawed deep inside of unfulfilled dreams and ambitions unattained.  He used to say to anyone within hearing range that when he retired he'd travel and see all those things he'd never been able to see.  Ten years it'd been since his only remaining son had taken his place on the tractor, and the Old Man still hadn't been to go see those things he'd always planned to, they were still far away.

     His time he spent pottering around the homestead, or working in the garden behind the house, that is up until a year ago when his arthritis had made it hard for him to even walk, and it seemed to him that since then the flesh had melted from his once strong frame.  The garden which had once been his pride and joy now looked unkempt.  He still wandered through it now and again when he could, even managed to pull the odd weed or two, but still it was not enough.  The weeds outpaced him, grew up faster than he could ever hope to pull them, and the Old Lady, well she tried to help him out when she could.  But it was getting to be to big of a job to even keep trying anymore, he knew that this would be the last year that he tried to work the land at all.    

     There was one place that he still did do his best to keep up it was the old family plot just north of the house.  In this small plot of land lay three generations of the family buried  deep in the grip of the cool earth.  The Old Man still managed to keep the grass on this bit of land trimmed down to size.  He felt it was his duty, that it was something he owed those who had been.  He knew if he didn't keep it so, then perhaps the wild prairies grasses would once more grow tall here in this spot swallowing the headstones, hiding them in the tangle until finally they would disappear from sight and eventually memory.

His Grandpa had begun the little plot when his Grandma had died, but that was before he had been born.  Grandpa had laid her to rest under a spreading old Oak that stood by itself, alone.  Over the years, his Pa had added a picket fence to close the plot in, it still stood there around the sacred place, but it sagged a bit with age, and here and there pickets were gone or broken.  He'd given up years ago trying to keep it up, now he just let it slowly fall down, waiting for the day it too would be gone, like those who within the squared off plot it marked, were.  Everything out here disappears over time, doesn't matter what or who it is, on this land with its ever-blowin wind, ever-changin weather, everything disappears given enough time, just like its never been.  The land always wins in the end.                   

     When he was a youngster, he could recall going to her grave, his small hand holding onto his Grandpa's hand, as they walked in through the gate.  Grandpa always carried some flowers in the other hand, which after a bit he would quietly lay at the base of the slate headstone, then he'd stand there a minute silently looking at the grave, after a bit he'd nod as though answering somethin Grandma had said from the grave, then he'd slowly turn and take the youngster's hand and together they would make their way back up to the porch, where often as not Grandpa would spend the rest of his day.  He recalled the day they had buried his Grandpa there too, by his Grandmas side, he remembered how much it hurt, knowing that Grandpa would not coming back, that he would not talking with him anymore.  But he also was kinda glad cause know his Grandpa would be with his Grandma once more, and he knew deep inside that Grandpa would be happy again.  His Pa too, was buried there, next to Grandpa's and Grandma's graves, next to him laid his Ma.  The other grave was not really a grave, just a marker the government paid for, a simple slate stone, on it was chiseled his oldest son's name.  There was not a body under the stone, Shawn had been killed in the war, and his body had not been found, so the stone marked an empty grave.  Times for him had changed that day when the telegram had come, death was not something he did not know, he dealt with it almost everyday, dead cattle, hogs, chicken's.  True they were a lot different then when someone close to you died, he knew that, but he also knew that the pain he felt when Grandpa, had passed or when his folks had too, over time that pain, well it had kinda gone away.  But the pain he felt that day of the telegram it was still there inside him, just as fresh and new as the first day he found out of his son's death, he had by now over the years come to accept that the pain would never go away, it had almost become a part of him, unwanted but familiar in its way.  "Funny", he thought to himself, "Its been 16 years now and I'm still not sure, I just wish I could be, but I'm not, I can't remember ever saying, even once, I love you, to Shawn.  God, how many times did he say it ta me as he was growing up, I can see him at 5 on his way to bed, comin in and giving me a hug holdin on as long as his tired little arms would let him, then he'ed smile that smile of his, and say "Goodnite Pa, I love ya" then he'd turn and slowly make his way to bed.  I musta told him I loved him then, but I'm not sure, I just can't recall, God, I wish I knew"  The Old Man thought about this alot, he did not have much else he could do.

    There were other things he thought of, things that would spring into his mind unbidden, things he had never really thought of before, like the days.  It just seemed to him that the days he now knew went on forever, stretching from one end to the other with nothing changing, nothing to look forward to anymore, a minute or an hour it did not matter, to him they all seemed the same.  There were times now he completely lost track of time, fell out of rhythm with the days, and when he thought about it, it worried him.  It had not been that way before, when he worked the land, there were times he lost track of the days, but he had never lost the rhythm. "Its just age creeping up on an Old Man, he thought, "When yer working this land, days don't matter, seasons do, rain, heat, and the blowing cold of a cutting winters wind, that's what matters".  

     But yet he knew that something in his world was not right, the memories that had seemed so fresh and alive just a short time ago, were veiled now, they moved like shadows in his mind.  He knew who he was, but some things that were did not seem as clear as they were just the day before.  Sometimes, like this mornings dream, they burned bright like the flaring of a match in the dark of the night, a quick flash as quickly gone, leaving one to wonder if in fact it had been there at all.

     The Old Man shook his head, "No time to be thinking thoughts like this, gotta get up an get going the Old Woman don't bide just laying in bed."   The Old Man struggled out from the bed, and slowly, painfully pushed himself erect.  Grasping the cane that leaned on the wall by the head of the bed, he made his way across the room to the old battered chair.  Sitting down slowly upon its creaking frame,  he pulled on his clothes and boots.  He stood unsteadily to his feet and leaning on his cane, made his way to the kitchen.  From where he could smell the aroma of coffee brewing, and hear the pots and pans banging as the Old Lady made breakfast there.

      Arriving at the battered old table, he stiffly sat down on one of the two old chairs, and waited and watched.  The Old Lady, not speaking, placed a mug of coffee on the table in front of him, from it tendrils of steam wafted lazily into the air.  He sat, now and then stirring a spoon in his cup, occasionally sipping the coffee slowly, waiting for his breakfast.  "Tim will be over today", said the Old Lady, "Wants ta see what needs to be done on the ole barn, check out the roof, been leaking ya know," as she set down his breakfast on the table.

     The Old Man nodded his head in reply and went on sipping and stirring.  She sat down across from him, as he ate.  She gripped a cup of coffee in her strong hand and watched him eat, thinking to herself how frail he had become, he was no longer the big strong man she had married those long ago years.  She knew, though, that she still loved him and always would.  He finished with his breakfast and pushed the plate away, looking at his wife he said, "You say Timmys coming over today?"

The Old Woman Answered, "Yes I did, don't you ever listen to me when I talk Old Man?,  he called last night and said he wanted to check out the old barn roof today,  It'll be haying season soon and he needs to make sure the ole place keep it halfway dry through the winter"

     The Old Man nodded his head and said, "I told him last year that the ole barn needed a new roof, lets see..., we built that ole barn 36 or was it 37?"  He asked, more to himself than to her,

     The Old Lady answered, "36,... remember, it was the year of the drought, lost quite a lot of the corn, barely made it through that year."

     He replied, "We barely made it through a lot of years, I seem to recall, but the good lord helping, we always did make it.  Lessee so thats, what?..., twenty four long years that ole roofs been on there,  Yep I guess he can't complain to much bout it not lastin, but he will, he just don't understand things wear out, specially out here..., yep things just wear out....."  He trailed off.   The Old Lady had picked up the dishes and was at the sink washing them, she always kept everything spotless.  Not like the Old Man, he wandered through the house picking something up here and dropping it there, Oh she'd tried to break him of that habit over the years, never had succeeded though and finally she'd just given up.  The Old Man sat for a few minutes more, just sat and stirred his coffee, then finally labored his way into the parlor to sit and read until mid-morning when he would make his way to the broad open porch on the front of the house.

     The parlor of the home was well kept, and other than the TV which was rarely used sitting in corner, looked like it was straight out of the Victorian era.  The huge horse hair couch filled up the space between the two front windows, and doilies covered the tables.  Everything looked perfect, the pictures all hung straight and even on the walls,  even the books in the case were lined up by height.  The Old Mans chair sat in the corner, placed to catch the new morning sun, beside it sat a small table with a light.  It was his place, and it was the only spot, or place that showed life in the room.  The chair was worn shiny where he sat, the small table was heaped with tattered magazines and books.  

     The Old Man slowly sat down and leaned his cane carefully beside the chair.  Without a glance, he pulled a magazine from the pile on the table and started to read.  He put the magazine down after a few minutes, he couldn't focus on its written words.  Letting it fall into his lap he leaned back in his chair, and looked about the room.  "Lots of memories here, Old Man,  I can remember my Dad sitting in here when I was young, no bigger than  Timmy's boy Matt is now.  The Christmas tree standing over there by the big picture window, and the room smelling of that Christmas scent, fresh cut pine, and the scent of hia Mother's baking.  Cinammon spice in the air, in the kitchen on the cooling rack sat the pies, made for Christmas dinner, Apple, Cherry, and Pecan.  His Dad would wander in there, usually chased out again by Ma, with the shout, "Keep yer hands off'in those pies, there fer dinner, not fer snackin."  He remembered how his Dad always made getting the Christmas tree seem like such an important thing.  "Pa would always wait till the week before Christmas Eve to go out and cut it down, and it juss was not any tree that he cut down either.  No, he'd been eye'in the trees all summer and into the fall, always lookin fer that perfect one.  Can't say I ever recall him sayin he found it either, seems when he'd bring it in the door he be sayin how this year he'd got the perfect one, but by the time he had it put up he'd have found some tiny imperfection.  Don't think me or Ma ever noticed it till he would point it out, we'd just stand there looking at the tree, marveling at the lines, but Pa, he'd point out that one little thing, Ma would look at him then and say, "Pa, now you know that is just the way it grew and once we get it decorated you won't be able to see a thing, so you just quit yer complainin now, you got us a wonderful tree."  Pa, well he'd quiet down then, always kinda wondered in the back of my mind if he made such a big fuss about those tree's just so Ma would tell him what a good job he done pick'in em out.  Well, guess it don't matter much now anyway, whatever the reason was.  Ma and I, and Grandpa when he was alive we'd spend the night stringing popcorn together, popcorn Pa popped over the  the old potbelly stove, course I think Grandpa and I ate more than we stringed, Ma she'd act like she was getting mad as we ate it, but we knew she wasn't, spose it was just part of Christmas.  I remember after the tree had been decorated and stood there aglow in all its finery, Grandpa used to sit back and tell me a story or two, lets see he'd tell about Santa and his reindeer, or sometimes bout the baby Jesus too, there was one in particular he used to tell, I can remember it so well.  Lets see now what was it he called it, oh yes, I think it was, "Professor Owl and the Special Star",  and the Old Man returned to a Christams Eve from long ago, the parlor stove was burning bright, his Pa was sitting by its glowing side.  The newly decorated tree, with bows and tinsel that danced in the light was in its spot.  His Ma was sitting on the couch, and Grandpa was in his chair, the youngster the Old Man had been once, was sitting on floor, the Old Man looked down upon the floor, to himself he said, "Lets see I was sittin right bout there, juss waitin fer Grandpa to begin, waitin and wonder'in what special place he was going to take me to tonight.  Grandpa enjoyed storytelling, he weaved a web of words that a child could understand, but he did it in his own time, no rushin him.  He sat in his chair for an eternity, least it seemed so to me, then he'd lean back, look fer a bit at the ceiling overhead, looking fer the right words.  Then finally he looked down at me sittin there and he'd begin, "Ya ever hear of ole Professor Owl?," he said looking right at me.  I shook my head no.  "Well this story is about him, juss so ya know I've known him fer alot of years, we talk every now and again, this is somthing he told me neigh on thirty years ago, one day when we were talking out in the grove out back.  I told yer Pa, bout it then."  I looked over to where Pa sat, he was smilin as he looked at me and shook his head.  Grandpa continued then,  "It was quite a lot of years ago, as Professor Owl told me he was sittin in his house readin a book, he laid it down, then he yawned and stretched.  Slowly he arose from his favorite chair, worn threadbare from use.  He shuffled over to the mirror hanging from the wall of his ancient Oak tree home.  Clucking to himself over the image he beheld, he smoothed out a few ruffled feathers on his head.  His finishing touch was to push his thick spectacles back up on his beak.  Turning slowly around he headed over to his desk on the far side of the room on which he kept his lessons for the following day.  Professor Owl rummaged through the piled up books and papers until finally, with a sigh of relief, he found the books and papers he needed.  Placing these in his valise, he turned and shuffled out the door, carefully locking it behind him.  Making his way down to the end of the old broken limb that lead away from his house, he spread his great wings and with a loud swoosh arose into the early morning sky.  Higher and higher he flew, so high that he could land on the last of the shining moonbeams, which he did.  After catching his breath, he made his way up the path of the moonbeam, to the Great Hall of the Stars, (which is that place where all the night sky's stars go when you and I cannot see them.)  Finally arriving at the great door, he banged on it loudly three times and stood impatiently waiting for it to open.  Quickly now I will answer a few of the questions that are buzzing around there inside your head.  I spose yer wondering why was Professor Owl at the home of the stars? Simply because, Professor Owl was the teacher of all the little stars that glitter in the night sky above us all.  Yes, there are little stars just like there are little children like you are now.  You and I have all seen the stars in the clear night sky, little ones that twinkle and the big ones that glow bright.  During the day they all go home to the Great Hall where maybe even now Professor Owl is waiting impatiently for the door to open.

     Slowly the great door of the hall started to creak upon its ancient hinges, as the handle turned down and inch by inch the door opened to reveal the glowing form of Mother Star in the doorway, "Good Morning, Professor Owl" she said.  "And a fine morning to you," he replied, "I trust the students are ready for their lessons."  Mother Star replied, "Yes, they are all waiting for you in the nursery."  Professor Owl started walking down the hall to the nursery, and reaching it he turned and entered.

     At once a hush drew over the room. (Little stars, like little boys and girls, talk and laugh when the teacher is not in the room.) Moving to the desk at the front of the room, he said, "Good morning class, How are all of you?" to which all the little stars replied in one voice, "Very well, thank you."  "Today, we will be working on our ciphers", said Professor Owl as he turned to the Blackboard and commenced writing.  They worked on their ciphers all through the morning and like here on earth, some of the little stars did better than the others.  Professor Owl could see who had been doing their studying and those that had not.  At midday when it was time for the little stars to take their naps, it was Professor Owl's custom to tell them all a story, so that they could all sleep a little better.  And as all the little stars lay snuggled into their beds, Professor Owl said, "Today I will tell you all the story of Jack and the Beanstalk."  The glow in the room dimmed noticeably and Professor Owl, knowing that in star talk this meant that the little stars were not as happy as they were a minute before, said, "What is wrong, do you not want to hear of Jack and the Beanstalk?"  With this the glow in the room became a little brighter and professor Owl continued, "Well then, how about a story of..." he paused "A star?"  With this the room glowed a majestic blue (for as you know, when the stars shine brightly, that is, when they are happy, the night sky appears almost blue.)  Realizing this was the type of story the little stars wanted to hear, Professor Owl leaned back in his rocking chair and paused to collect his thoughts for the story, and since he did not know any stories about a star it was a long pause indeed.  Finally after what seemed an eternity to the little stars, Professor Owl began,  This is a story about a special star, and it happened long, long ago...,"

The Special Star

     Long ago when the world was still quite young the King of All That Could Be, made men and women and put them on the earth in a garden he made especially for them.  For the longest time everything went well until one day the Prince of Darkness arrived and taught man wicked ways.  This made the King of All That Could Be very sad and he put man and women out of his special garden and made them live as best they could on the earth with only his guidance to lead them.  Over the years and years that followed, man began to question the guidance of the King of All That Could Be, and fall into even more wicked ways, ways that made the King of All That Could Be very unhappy.  Finally one day he said to himself, "I must do something, for man and woman to help them, to make them see the error of their ways.  He thought and thought, and planned and planned until one day his design was finished, that is all except one thing.  This is what he planned, in a small town called Bethlehem on the plains of Israel he would send down his son to join all men and women on earth and show them the way of right, the path they should follow to make everyone happy.  But I get ahead of myself that is a story for another time, this story is about that one small thing of the King of All That Could Be's plan that he still had not answered, and his search for that answer, said Professor Owl.

     In fact this one small thing was something of major importance in the King of All That Could Be's plan, something on which the whole success of the plan could well indeed hinge and that something was a sign.  How could the King of All That Could Be show man that this babe was someone special, someone for all the world to heed.  The King of All That Could Be took council with his old friend the moon, who ever since the beginning when the King of All That Could Be had made the earth, and the heavens, and in fact the moon itself.  The moon had watched over the earth and from the night sky bathed it in his pearly white light.  After the King of All That Could Be had told the moon of his dilemma, the moon was silent for a long time as he sat and thought, Finally he replied, "I have been here ever since the beginning when you made me, and I have watched over your handiwork ever since you made it.  I was here the very first night and will I will be here always to look down upon your handiwork.  The question you pose is indeed a most difficult one, but I think perhaps that I see a way to help you in this matter.  You need a sign, a great and glorious sign for mankind to understand what you have given them.  What better time to give this sign than at night when the world is bathed in darkness.  Make a light, a great shining beacon anchored in the sky like the stars, a light that shines down upon the earth, upon the very place where your son lies.  Of this man would take note and see that this child is special indeed."  The King of All That Could Be, saw the truthfulness of this and was glad, but where could he find a light of such purity as the moon had described.

     He thought on this for a long while, and decided that he would go and talk with Polaris, (whom you may know as the Pole star), the father of all the stars in the heaven, and indeed the brightest and oldest in the night sky.  Maybe Polaris could help to see a way.  Arriving here at the Great Hall, the King of All That Could Be sat down with Polaris and asked him for his thoughts on the matter. (Hearing this the little stars gasped they could not believe the King of All That Could Be ever came to the Great Hall.  Professor Owl added, "Yes little stars, Polaris who lives here even today, talks to the King of All That Could Be.")  The King of All That Could Be, explained his plan to Polaris and his need.  Polaris, who had leaned back in his chair as he listened to the King of All That Could Be while he spoke, now leaned forward once more and said, "I understand your need, but there is not one star in the night sky that is bright enough to do what you need, even I the brightest of all, cannot give you the light that you want, please understand that I am not denying you this request, but rather there is no star in the skies that I know of that could fulfill this great honor that you ask."

     The King of All That Could Be was then saddened and getting up he made his way down the long corridor of the great hall to the door.  As he opened the door he heard a small voice from behind him speak, "Sir, begging your pardon, but I overheard you and Polaris speaking of your request, and I wondered if I may ask to help."  Turning, the King of All That Could Be looked behind him and roared, "Who is it here that offers help to me even though Polaris the oldest and brightest of the bright stars, says that I may find no answers here?"  For a few moments nothing happened and the King of All That Could Be thought perhaps he had been hearing things and as he turned back to the door, he saw out of the corner of his eye a shadow, shaking behind a table in the corridor, realizing that perhaps he had spoken to harshly earlier, he gently said, "Who is it that offers me hope here in the home of the Stars?.  Please do not be afraid, I am sorry if I scared you, it was the frustration speaking, not I.  Anyone who could possibly give me an answer to my problem is more than welcome to try.  So come out from behind that table little star, share with me your counsel."  The shaking stopped and the little star timidly stepped out from behind the table and approached the King of All That Could Be.  No older than a child and no bigger than a wagon wheel, (which is small indeed for a star) with only the faintest glow around him the little star approached and stopping said, "Sir, I believe that I could do what you seek, that is if you let me try, I know that I am not the biggest star, nor by any means the brightest, but if you let me try I know I can be the star you need."  Hearing this the King of All That Could Be looked down into the glowing eyes of the little star and speaking in a soft and kindly voice said, "Little star, I see in you the faith and the hope that is so sadly lacking on the earth below, in your heart I feel the love that cannot fail to give the brightest glow as a sign to those below, who seek my son as he sleeps in his manger bed.  My son born to man to forgive them their sins and ease their dread, I know will sleep peacefully, bathed in your loving light.  Yes, my little star, it is to you that I look in my time of need and I gratefully accept your offer."

     And so it came to pass on the appointed night that the little star became the brightest star in all of the heavens, a brightness not seen before or since, and a single ray reached out and softly bathed the Christ child in its loving light.  And indeed so bright was the little stars light that shined as a sign to all mankind, that three wise man came from the east to pay homage to the greatest king of all, and they were lead by the little star's light.  Professor Owl ended his story about the Special Star.  Looking about the darkened room he could only hear the gentle snoring and see the steady glowing of all the little stars as they happily napped, each perhaps dreaming that he or she was the special star of the story just told.  Slowly, ever so slowly Professor Owl stood up from the rocking chair, and silently made his way from the room quietly pulling the door shut behind him.

     Grandpa paused, looked down at me then, said, "thats the story he told near as I can recall the way he told me, but ya never can tell bout ole Professor Owl.  He sometimes likes to pull yer leg now an again."  I juss sat nodding my head, didn't know what to think, Finally Pa stood up and said it was time fer me ta go ta bed.  I did, but I spent that night thinking bout Old Professor Owl, spent the next couple weeks out lookin fer him too.  I wanted to meet him, say hi juss like my Grandpa did.    

     The Old Man kinda sat back and thought on those memories, smiling as he thought and looked about the room.  Shadows of the past danced here and there, like dust on a sundeam oa bright afternoon.  Thanksgivings, Christmasses past.  The boys running through the room, and growing, to fast.  To himself he said, "lotta years behind you Old Man, yer gettin tired.  Like my Pa always said things out here they just wear out, the land sucks em  dry, and the wind blows 'em away like a corn husk."