Trail running. Probably not the first thing most people think of when told to go relax. Hmm... And I guess I'm included, most of the time, in "most people."
But in the past three months I've regained a love for trail running that only one who runs trails will ever understand. I can probably at least in vague terms get this love across to those who love nature, who love to hike. But to someone who doesn't like to be outdoors in the first place, well needless to say it's a lost cause.
When you're running trails--when you CAN run trails--it feels much like you own the world. If you're in shape, if you've worked hard toward this activity and are down to a body weight that your legs, lungs and heart can support, there is no feeling like it.
There are times, such as when it gets up into the 90's and beyond, when no matter what shape you're in you suffer. Those aren't the times I'm talking about. I'm talking about those times when it's between 40 and 70 degrees, or if it's over that when the sun has at least gone down behind the hills. Then you're in heaven. You float over those trails lighter than dandelion fluff. You run and run and run and feel like you could run forever.
There is a downside to the running, though. It's hard to really see what's around you. It's hard to take in the smells, the sights and sounds, the feel of the nature around you.
If you haven't been out in the hills of late, I feel sorry for you. Maybe it's especially this particularly wet year. I don't know. But it is so green, so vibrant, so alive. The hummingbirds are a constant, the little warblers and sparrows and finches are a special treat when you can see them. But all of that is hard to see when you're running. I guess that's why God made downhills. My knees don't like them, so many times I'll walk, and that is when, although they say it's not possible, I get to "have my cake and eat it too." Run up, feel the wind in my hair, feel my blood pounding, suck in that clean mountain air. Then walk down as the sun sets and turns the sky into crimson and gold, and now even the dust takes on a smell that I treasure, like that of the sagebrush, the juniper, cottonwood and maple.
True enjoyment is if you make it up high enough to scent the Douglas fir forest. The huge brown trunks tower around you, and the forest floor is thick with needle duff. That smell, in the waning of the day, is better than any perfume. Far better, in my opinion. And when you find yourself in the shade and shelter of those giant Douglas firs, you know that at last you are where God intended you to be.
It is at those times when my thoughts can turn to men like Jim Driever and Dan Gilbert, who spent years of their lives confined to a wheel chair, unable to be out in nature. This is something to be witnessed if you can, my friends. These times when you are able to move about freely, to experience the woods with all your senses, these are the times you should not let pass you by. If you are stressed, if you are weary, if you are ready to give up, the woods, the trails, all of nature will renew you. Give it a chance. Don't miss out on one of God's greatest gifts.
See you down the trail.
Kirby Jonas
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
Another funeral
A daily funeral blog would likely get very old very fast. It would be like reading the obituaries after a while, and if you are like most people you would be skimming the names and nothing more. For that reason and the fact that I don't like losing friends, I sincerely hope this is my last blog having anything to do with death or funerals for some time to come.
But after the funeral today I can't help but feel there is something more to say than I said in yesterday's blog. Today I left a weeklong class on fire cause investigation at a very crucial place to attend the funeral of my good friend Dan Gilbert. The firefighter whose funeral I attended last Saturday was gone before I started here. But firefighters being who they are, you go in uniform simply to show your support for the family and to honor the profession. It's a brotherhood thing.
In the case of Dan Gilbert, however, I worked with him for the entire time I was a police officer here in Pocatello. On top of the time at work, we rounded up cattle together, in good weather and bad, sometimes eating dust at the drag (back of the herd), sometimes pushing the aspen groves for strays that escaped the main drive. Dan was one of those people you love immediately, the kind of man whose soft voice you know will ring in your ears for a long time after they are gone. He was a loving man, a great father, a good example both as a cop and as a human being. He was a superb athlete who sat his horse, as I said yesterday, like poetry in motion. I only saw him buck off his horse once, and that was in the middle of a fight we had between a big, curve-horned hereford bull, the two of us, and our horses. Ironically, it was the smallest one there, a blue heeler dog, that caused the bull to get so mad, which eventually led to Dan hitting the ground.
But Dan got up off that ground with a smile, and I never heard him swear. Fact is, I don't believe I ever heard him swear in all the years I knew him. I'm afraid what he would have heard from me if I had been hitting that same ground, especially with that angry 2,000 pound bull ready to stomp him into the dirt. Well, Dan came away with only bruises, the bull disappeared for good into a thicket, and we had to admit defeat until another day.
That didn't change Dan's mood, however. He was the best of good-humored cowboys.
I didn't want to misspeak yesterday, so when I spoke of his disease I didn't call it by name. It seemed too coincidental that he would have died of the same rare disease as our firefighter a few days later. But Dan did indeed die of Lou Gehrig's disease, as I believed. He could beat many things, bad horses, bad bulls, the few criminals who wanted to fight him. But he couldn't beat his disease.
Even to the end Dan was thinking of other people. Like me, he too raised chickens, and if he found a good deal on wheat he was right on the phone calling me. Or with any other information he thought might be helpful. Even when he was getting to where he could barely hold the phone he wanted to help other people. I will always miss Dan.
As I sat there through his funeral, I realized that if people could truthfully say even half of the good things they said about him at my funeral, I would be able to consider my life a success. "Live your life in such a way that no one should have to lie at your funeral."
In tomorrow's blog I think I'll talk about creationism, evolution, and faith in God. Until then, stay out of the weather, as long as you can do it by wearing a good cowboy hat, a good slicker, and a pair of chaps. Otherwise, no day is bad enough to not spend on the back of a horse.
But after the funeral today I can't help but feel there is something more to say than I said in yesterday's blog. Today I left a weeklong class on fire cause investigation at a very crucial place to attend the funeral of my good friend Dan Gilbert. The firefighter whose funeral I attended last Saturday was gone before I started here. But firefighters being who they are, you go in uniform simply to show your support for the family and to honor the profession. It's a brotherhood thing.
In the case of Dan Gilbert, however, I worked with him for the entire time I was a police officer here in Pocatello. On top of the time at work, we rounded up cattle together, in good weather and bad, sometimes eating dust at the drag (back of the herd), sometimes pushing the aspen groves for strays that escaped the main drive. Dan was one of those people you love immediately, the kind of man whose soft voice you know will ring in your ears for a long time after they are gone. He was a loving man, a great father, a good example both as a cop and as a human being. He was a superb athlete who sat his horse, as I said yesterday, like poetry in motion. I only saw him buck off his horse once, and that was in the middle of a fight we had between a big, curve-horned hereford bull, the two of us, and our horses. Ironically, it was the smallest one there, a blue heeler dog, that caused the bull to get so mad, which eventually led to Dan hitting the ground.
But Dan got up off that ground with a smile, and I never heard him swear. Fact is, I don't believe I ever heard him swear in all the years I knew him. I'm afraid what he would have heard from me if I had been hitting that same ground, especially with that angry 2,000 pound bull ready to stomp him into the dirt. Well, Dan came away with only bruises, the bull disappeared for good into a thicket, and we had to admit defeat until another day.
That didn't change Dan's mood, however. He was the best of good-humored cowboys.
I didn't want to misspeak yesterday, so when I spoke of his disease I didn't call it by name. It seemed too coincidental that he would have died of the same rare disease as our firefighter a few days later. But Dan did indeed die of Lou Gehrig's disease, as I believed. He could beat many things, bad horses, bad bulls, the few criminals who wanted to fight him. But he couldn't beat his disease.
Even to the end Dan was thinking of other people. Like me, he too raised chickens, and if he found a good deal on wheat he was right on the phone calling me. Or with any other information he thought might be helpful. Even when he was getting to where he could barely hold the phone he wanted to help other people. I will always miss Dan.
As I sat there through his funeral, I realized that if people could truthfully say even half of the good things they said about him at my funeral, I would be able to consider my life a success. "Live your life in such a way that no one should have to lie at your funeral."
In tomorrow's blog I think I'll talk about creationism, evolution, and faith in God. Until then, stay out of the weather, as long as you can do it by wearing a good cowboy hat, a good slicker, and a pair of chaps. Otherwise, no day is bad enough to not spend on the back of a horse.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Death ... and Life
First glance at the title of this blog may tell someone who was extremely positive that I am a pessimist. That's not true, at least not on all levels. At least it's not true in speaking of death and life. I have no fear of dying. No fear of the unknown on the other side. No fear of being lost in darkness forever or blowing around like dust in the wind (one of my favorite rock songs, by the way). I understand death itself, and I have a firm conviction of what awaits me on the other side, and I know beyond any doubt that it is far more glorious than what I am living here.
What I do fear, however, is the act of dying. Not the quick, merciful death you have when your car goes 75 miles an hour into a concrete wall or the side of a 1,000 pound hog, mind you. No, I'm talking about lingering death from cancer, Lou Gehrig's disease, or any one of a thousand other strange diseases that plague humankind. Dying slowly, living in pain every day, losing the strength even to roll over in bed when you need to, or to scratch an itch. That is what I fear.
I also fear leaving behind my family, and knowing how much they and my friends will miss me. This is a matter of fact, not any kind of boast about how great I am to be around. I simply know how much I've missed my own father and the many friends who have left this world and left me blue and longing for one more conversation with them. Not to mention those people I never met who have touched my life forever, such as Elvis Presley, Marty Robbins, and John Denver. (No, sorry, Michael Jackson is not on my list.)
You might ask what brings this on. Well, I attended a funeral last Saturday, the funeral of an ex firefighter who had to retire from the Pocatello fire department before I started here, forced into retirement by the merciless Lou Gehrig's disease. The words spoken of this man were glowing, the words anyone might wish would be said of them at their funeral, especially if they could be true.
While at that funeral I had several occasions to think of another friend of mine, this one from my police officer days with this same city. This very close friend owned part of a ranch, or at least his family did, and we gathered many a time on cattle roundups and spent many enjoyable hours side by side pushing bawling cows. (I know to some of you that might not sound very enjoyable, but then golf doesn't sound very enjoyable to me, and many of my friends love it.) Anyway... This friend was struck down with muscular degenerative disease not very long ago. He went downhill fast. VERY fast. He went from an athletic man who sat a horse like poety in motion, to a man who could hardly hold onto a piece of paper last time I saw him. I decided at the funeral that I should go see him, but before I could make it I saw his name in the obituaries, only three or four days after the first funeral. A good friend gone.
Both of these men led honorable lives. Both of them had good senses of humor and many friends. You will never find me jumping on the bandwagon that says, "They were too good for this world, so God took them." I don't buy that. In most cases I believe Death just happens. It isn't destiny, it isn't God taking you. It's just luck of the draw. On the other side of that coin, God COULD stop it if he wanted to. He can do anything. And I don't doubt for one moment that he has saved many a person who should have died. But imagine how crowded this world would be if God saved every worthwhile human being. So I understand why he lets some pass from our midst, even those who seem so worthwhile, who seem to be doing so much good in our world.
I guess what I got out of this last week, what I hope you all will take away from this blog, is how important it is to live every day as if it were your last. Don't leave those loving words unspoken. Don't neglect to give that hug or kiss, or hold that hand. Too many people go out without warning--"buck out," as the cowboys used to say. You may be one. It may be tomorrow. It may be today. Reach out and touch those you love, and let them know it. You may never get another chance.
I am not afraid of death, but I do love life, as long as it is a quality life. Treat it like you love it. Don't ever let your loved ones have to make amends with you at your graveside or stand there in prayer, wondering if you truly loved them because you didn't say it. Let's face it, for many of you reading this, there may be no tomorrow.
And for all of my friends out there who read this, including all those who have touched my life but briefly, I will say this, since I am preaching it. I love you. Don't let that chain be broken.
Kirby Jonas
www.kirbyjonas.com
What I do fear, however, is the act of dying. Not the quick, merciful death you have when your car goes 75 miles an hour into a concrete wall or the side of a 1,000 pound hog, mind you. No, I'm talking about lingering death from cancer, Lou Gehrig's disease, or any one of a thousand other strange diseases that plague humankind. Dying slowly, living in pain every day, losing the strength even to roll over in bed when you need to, or to scratch an itch. That is what I fear.
I also fear leaving behind my family, and knowing how much they and my friends will miss me. This is a matter of fact, not any kind of boast about how great I am to be around. I simply know how much I've missed my own father and the many friends who have left this world and left me blue and longing for one more conversation with them. Not to mention those people I never met who have touched my life forever, such as Elvis Presley, Marty Robbins, and John Denver. (No, sorry, Michael Jackson is not on my list.)
You might ask what brings this on. Well, I attended a funeral last Saturday, the funeral of an ex firefighter who had to retire from the Pocatello fire department before I started here, forced into retirement by the merciless Lou Gehrig's disease. The words spoken of this man were glowing, the words anyone might wish would be said of them at their funeral, especially if they could be true.
While at that funeral I had several occasions to think of another friend of mine, this one from my police officer days with this same city. This very close friend owned part of a ranch, or at least his family did, and we gathered many a time on cattle roundups and spent many enjoyable hours side by side pushing bawling cows. (I know to some of you that might not sound very enjoyable, but then golf doesn't sound very enjoyable to me, and many of my friends love it.) Anyway... This friend was struck down with muscular degenerative disease not very long ago. He went downhill fast. VERY fast. He went from an athletic man who sat a horse like poety in motion, to a man who could hardly hold onto a piece of paper last time I saw him. I decided at the funeral that I should go see him, but before I could make it I saw his name in the obituaries, only three or four days after the first funeral. A good friend gone.
Both of these men led honorable lives. Both of them had good senses of humor and many friends. You will never find me jumping on the bandwagon that says, "They were too good for this world, so God took them." I don't buy that. In most cases I believe Death just happens. It isn't destiny, it isn't God taking you. It's just luck of the draw. On the other side of that coin, God COULD stop it if he wanted to. He can do anything. And I don't doubt for one moment that he has saved many a person who should have died. But imagine how crowded this world would be if God saved every worthwhile human being. So I understand why he lets some pass from our midst, even those who seem so worthwhile, who seem to be doing so much good in our world.
I guess what I got out of this last week, what I hope you all will take away from this blog, is how important it is to live every day as if it were your last. Don't leave those loving words unspoken. Don't neglect to give that hug or kiss, or hold that hand. Too many people go out without warning--"buck out," as the cowboys used to say. You may be one. It may be tomorrow. It may be today. Reach out and touch those you love, and let them know it. You may never get another chance.
I am not afraid of death, but I do love life, as long as it is a quality life. Treat it like you love it. Don't ever let your loved ones have to make amends with you at your graveside or stand there in prayer, wondering if you truly loved them because you didn't say it. Let's face it, for many of you reading this, there may be no tomorrow.
And for all of my friends out there who read this, including all those who have touched my life but briefly, I will say this, since I am preaching it. I love you. Don't let that chain be broken.
Kirby Jonas
www.kirbyjonas.com
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Blogging is no easy task!
Ladies and Gentleman, this is my very first blog on blogspot. Don't expect any great things from me when it comes to using computer terminology. For instance, the word "blog" itself. I'm assuming it's an abbreviation for something, but you know what? I have no clue what it is! Nor do I truly care.
But my first blog is going to consist of a bit of sarcastic comment on the setup of "Blogspot" itself. You see, when you first sign up for Blogspot you have a place where you eventually have to type in those distorted little words from some box. This is to keep the mass mailers from getting an account, I'm told. Okay, fine. Keep those mass mailers and their computers from recognizing the letters in those boxes. But guess what?!?! It took me five or six tries to get the right letters myself. They have gotten to the point that, at least on Blogspot, they have perfected their distortion so much that even normal human beings can't read the letters. Hmm.... This seems a little self defeating.
Be that as it may, I somehow accidentally stumbled into the correct letters on the fifth or sixth try, and now here I am. I will try to keep this blog, whatever that means, up as often as possible, even when I'm as ready for a nap as I am right now!
My real intended blog will follow this, so lucky "yous," you get two in one day! Yes, the upcoming is the blog I wanted to write before I tried signing up for Blogspot and discovered that computers are now taking over the world and recreating the alphabet in a form that humans will no longer be able to read.
Sionara, friends!
And welcome.
Kirby Jonas
But my first blog is going to consist of a bit of sarcastic comment on the setup of "Blogspot" itself. You see, when you first sign up for Blogspot you have a place where you eventually have to type in those distorted little words from some box. This is to keep the mass mailers from getting an account, I'm told. Okay, fine. Keep those mass mailers and their computers from recognizing the letters in those boxes. But guess what?!?! It took me five or six tries to get the right letters myself. They have gotten to the point that, at least on Blogspot, they have perfected their distortion so much that even normal human beings can't read the letters. Hmm.... This seems a little self defeating.
Be that as it may, I somehow accidentally stumbled into the correct letters on the fifth or sixth try, and now here I am. I will try to keep this blog, whatever that means, up as often as possible, even when I'm as ready for a nap as I am right now!
My real intended blog will follow this, so lucky "yous," you get two in one day! Yes, the upcoming is the blog I wanted to write before I tried signing up for Blogspot and discovered that computers are now taking over the world and recreating the alphabet in a form that humans will no longer be able to read.
Sionara, friends!
And welcome.
Kirby Jonas
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