As we were growing up, it sort of became a second home to my brother, my sisters, and me. You see, my Aunt and Uncle, Jeanne (Mom's sister) and Harlan (Dad's stepbrother), lived there, worked there, raised their family there, and, sometimes, even raised us there for short periods of time when our parents took a trip. The favor was returned sometimes, and Jeanne and Harlan's kids would stay with us in the thriving metropolis of New Leipzig (population at the time - around 350, including cats, dogs, chickens, cows, and maybe even a wild animal or two). Many wonderful memories.
One of those memories (still trying to figure out if this was one of those 'wonderful' memories, or
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| Uncle Harlan Circa December 1985 Last photo of him about a week and a half before he passed away |
That boar had to have weighed in at about a hunnert thousand pounds, cuz it was bigger than me (I was a seventh grader at the time, almost 6'3" tall and maybe weighed in at about 130 lbs. with five layers of clothes on and all of them soaking wet).
Harlan's plan was to 'herd' this boar (who was one cantankerous sumbitch to begin with) inside and along the fence line. He'd do this on horseback. So far, so good. Yeah, Harlan could do this. Yeah, he knew exactly what he wanted and what he was doing.
Problem is, Harlan decided to include me in this plan by planting me at one point along the fence line (inside it of course) armed with a stick. He would drive the boar straight at me, and when this behemoth got close enough, I was supposed to whack it on the snout to turn it toward, and into, the chute into the back of the pick-up.
That's when it went south for me. That's when it seemed kinda like herding cats was what I was in for.
He assured me the boar would turn, that the boar wouldn't like getting whacked on the snout, that the boar would do as expected. Yep, sure, all right.
With more than a little trepidation, I went to my spot, stood there anxiously awaiting what I thought would surely be the death of me. I watched as Harlan did exactly what he said he was going to do. He herded that boar very expertly along the fence line all the way out to the road, to the other side of the sty, and down the fence line directly on a collision course with me.
I stood my ground.
I still stood my ground.
I continued to stand my ground.
Then, all of a sudden, I was up and over the other side of the fence before I even had a chance to think about it.
Harlan was NOT happy with me.
To be honest, I don't even remember how we finally got that sumbitch boar into the back of the pick-up. What I do remember is the embarrassment, the shame at having let my Uncle Harlan down in this very simple, but dangerous job.
It's the little things I remember from my childhood, like this, that shaped who I became eventually. I blew this one. But, was I a coward for jumping out of the way? Or, was I using common sense? Or, was I just exercising my own 'survival instinct'?
Lots of things have happened to me in my life since then - some of them a lot less pleasant, by far, than this one was. I can look back on this event with some humor now. It didn't seem humorous to me at the time, that's for sure.
By the same token, I can now look back at some of the things that have happened in my adult life, and, although I won't ever find them to be humorous, I've found I either must cope with and live with the outcome(s) or the outcome(s) will consume me.
That's life. Cope with it and live with it. Fatalistic? Perhaps. But if you are still standing even after a metaphorical runaway freight train has run you over, you've already shown that life can hand you hardship, but you're stronger and more capable of handling it than even you realize. And, once you accept that inner strength, true happiness will also find you.
Thanks, Uncle Harlan (may you rest in peace), for teaching me one of those little things that ultimately helped shape who I became.
