*****
6 August 2015
Though telling a Twentieth Century story, some of these events and situations seem anachronistic. When my child was in elementary school, he asked questions like did my family have a car when I was little, because Teacher had said people did not have cars "in olden days." That's what happens when you tally up four or five (or more) decades: your early years become "olden days."
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It was Tuesday night, third week of spring term. It had been a beautiful day, warm and sunny; after class, boys in Wing Two had played a quick game of touch football. At nine o'clock, everybody was studying, when the phone rang: long-distance call for Jimmy Christianson. He came out of his room and went over to the telephone. Putting receiver to his ear, he heard his mother's voice, "Hi, Jimmy." She sounded tired, old, far away. The boy made no response. "Son, your grandfather is dying; he wants to see you. How soon can you get home?"
But Jimmy hadn't heard her last question because his mind was spinning. Grandpa? How could Grandpa be dying? He was too old to die - he'd outlast the mountains! Besides, I just got a letter from him today, saying he felt great and was looking forward to our next fishing trip: Houghton, end of term ...
*
Memories flooded Jimmy's mind. When Jimmy was four, Grandpa had made him a bow, using green willow wood, whittling slender branches for arrows. Then Grandpa had showed the boy how to aim, using a bale of straw for target practice. There was that hot July day when Mom was cleaning the back porch and Grandpa had salvaged some canvas. Using a leather punch, he'd made holes along three sides, sewed it together with a strip of tough cowhide. After supper that night, Grandpa had presented Jimmy a quiver. The boy believed it must have been just like Indians used to make, being hand-sewn.
There was a strong bond between the two generations, evident even to casual observers. Jimmy and Grandpa had grand escapades - Mom would be overheard telling Dad she didn't know which of the two was worse - which amused and sometimes exasperated members of the middle generation. Mostly though, they were wise enough to see this time as a vital part of life.
*
Joshua James Chrisianson had found numerous occasions to take his grandson fishing. Ten years ago, they'd gone to Carp River, where Jimmie had caught his first "keeper," a fourteen-inch rainbow trout. Proud lad and prize catch were captured on film, by equally proud grandsire. Asked if he wanted to have it mounted, or filleted for supper, logic told the boy hunger would not be satisfied by looking at a fish stuck on a hunk of wood. Besides, there were pictures.
So Old Josh, as neighbors called Grandpa, took a filet knife from his tackle box and taught Jimmy how to gut, gill, and filet his catch. For a nine-year-old, the boy did pretty well. Mom and Dad were proud when the saw the snapshots and there was no need for stories about "the one that got away."
At thirteen, Jimmy received his first gun. His birthday was in May and most of that summer was spent shooting at tin cans. Jimmy, Dad and Grandpa also went to the rifle range at least three times a month. By November, Jimmy was ready for deer season and got his first hunting license. Old Josh, his buddy Jake Watson, and young Jimmy, went to Iron Mountain for a weekend of hunting, "roughing it" in a hunting cabin. Only Jake got his buck, but the thrill and excitement stayed with the adolescent.
Through the years, Grandpa was always there when Jimmy needed someone to talk to, help him out, or advise him. There was Summer 1973: Jimmy was a second-stringer on high school baseball team and Grandpa worked Grandpa worked with the boy every spare minute. Sore muscles paid off when Jimmy made first string and was recognized as Most Improved Player. He got his varsity letter that year. As a sophomore, Jimmy wanted to play football, and Grandpa talked his daughter-in-law into letting Jimmy try out for the team. He proved to be an excellent athlete. Old Josh loved sports, and also pushed his grandson academically, feeling a strong body didn't amount to much, without an equally strong mind. When Jimmy graduated in 1976, he was co-valedictorian and Most Valuable Player, both accomplishments testified to Joshua James Christianson's dedicated tutelage.
To celebrate, Jimmy and Grandpa had spent three weeks in Washington State. Both enjoyed themselves immensely; Jimmy with youthful exuberance, Grandpa recollecting his own boyhood. Tall green trees, unbelievably blue skies, and clear streams brimming with fish. One rainy day, the two contented themselves just marveling at their surroundings. They smiled at a ladybug, making its way from tip of leaf to stem, set back, upon encountering a big drop of rain, going in opposite direction. They spent their last day canoeing down rapids, their small craft seeming almost insignificant on the vast waterway. Upon return to dry land, they had changed clothes and prepared a sustaining meal of bacon, potatoes and onions, and campfire coffee. One last night *away from the world,* under glittering stars, with sounds of crickets and bullfrogs. Tomorrow, they'd head home.
It was a three-day drive back to Ohio. Sun, woods and river held a charm the two were reluctant to leave, but Jimmy needed to get back and prepare for further adventures in the world of academe. He planned to go to a community college, just to round out basics, then attend a trade school. Jimmy already anticipated a term break, when he could go hunting or fishing with Grandpa.
***
Now, however, Grandpa would be going off alone, leaving Jimmy behind. Jimmy had enjoyed his time with Grandpa, made the most of every opportunity; in that, there were no regrets.
*
"Tomorrow, Mom: I'll go see the Dean after my test ... I'll catch a bus. Leave the light on. Okay?" Jimmy returned the receiver to its cradle without a word, went to his room and closed the door. Sleep brought dreams of Grandpa. The tears would come later.
No way to ever be prepared. You're in my heart. <3
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