(Writer’s Note: This is the first post to The
Standard Chronicles Blog in more than two years! How does that happen? I don’t
know. But I will begin to surmise some of the reasoning for this departure in
this coming expose. Bear with me please. BB)
Two years ago, I was an avid explorer of this
neighborhood I call home. It lies within the fading shadow of Kennesaw Mountain
in the sunset hours of each clear day. The days are less clear now than when we
moved here in March of 2019. It is not because the newness has worn off,
although novelty is a contributor in some small ambiguous way. More so because
our world has become increasingly upside/down, a concept that begs explanation.
Many things have happened two years hence and were I
to try to write about them in total, I am afraid the word processor may have to
join me in the grave. I will try to lowlight
a few. Ready? A virus escaped from China. We had a Presidential election.
Notice I did not say we elected a new president. We experienced lockdown. We
put masks on. We got poked. Anyway, some of us got poked. And at least one of
us had a motorcycle accident!
In the summer of 2019 I would, as a matter of routine, walk through our Mclaren Gates neighborhood around Lewis Park and up Catholic hill by the water of life tower, adjacent to Kennestone Hospital. It was always a joy to witness the children running about playing in the park and neighboring schoolyards. There was a sense of awe in the sounds and sights of soaring hawks common to the area. I would often trade out the walk through the neighborhood for a hike up Kennesaw Mountain. These forays would always be my barometer for how good a shape I was in at the ripe old age of 67, which brings me to the heart of the matter.
It was one of my last hikes of Kennesaw Mountain in
early August of 2019. From the summit I was making my way back down to the Stilesboro
Road Visitor Center when I stopped at the bench overlook adjacent to Kennesaw
Mountain Drive. I was enjoying the vista of Little Kennesaw Mountain with
Powder Springs in the background when I felt something tickle my right knee.
Looking down there was a beautiful brown butterfly flickering there next to a
big old age mole. It was a very graceful
moment until I noticed something blueish purple and out of place in the
crevasse of the big boulder underneath my feet.
It was plastic and as I leaned down to get a closer
look, I could see a knot and then realized it is a disposable bag of canine
fecal matter, doggy doo! Uh oh! My serene, environmentally friendly green
moment had been interrupted by a previous visitor’s apparent lack of self-awareness
(see forgetfulness). I tried not to get hyper critical. After all, I had
decisions to make. I looked over both
shoulders scanning for a garbage can. Nope, none there. Oh well, time to
continue my beautiful excursion through this pristine National Battlefield Park
and head back to my parked truck. Nope, can’t do that, I’ve got to do something
about the bag of s—t someone abandoned.
What if a park Ranger happened by just as I was walking away? I might be
accused of environmental sabotage. Oh my gosh, just what we need in this our
critical era of global climate change!
So, I did what any responsible citizen would do. Do the next right thing, pick up the discarded doggy fecal matter in the non-biodegradable designer bag and place it in a trash container. No big deal, right? I gingerly picked up the bag using my index finger and thumb. Oh God I thought, how long had this bag of …been here? Now what do I do? Go back up to the top where I know there are trash cans. But I’m already on my descent!
I resumed my journey down the mountain with a bag of
excrement, between my fingers attached to my arm extended away from my body.
Pretty soon the bag was swaying back and forth in sync with each stride. I
already was beginning to feel self-conscious as some cars passed me on the
descending road. Then I came upon some hikers ascending. It is not unusual to have a few people not
acknowledge you or look you in the eyes. Most all I came upon quickly diverted
eyes from the swinging sack of dog dung to either on the road below or the forest
above. Soon I would reach the pinnacle of awkwardness as I came across some
folks walking their dogs. And those dogs wanted no part in the poo I was
carrying as each pulled and tugged their masters in opposite direction. The
quizzical looks on those folks faces became for me moments of humor. I imagined hearing under their breath, “Well
there’s the bag of crap. Where’s the dog?
At the time, I had every intention of writing a blog
piece about this experience and then procrastination took hold. I thought I
could gather more material and incentive for the story on future hikes. Then the
park started charging entrance fees, which at first turned me off and with
winter approaching I decided to wait till spring to pay an annual fee. Well spring never came! Instead in its place
came a virus from China. Things have
never been the same. We are approaching authoritarianism in our
government. The truth has never been so obscured,
nor our freedoms so threatened here where we live. Our upside-down world became more upside down!
In an upside-down world the most difficult thing to discern is Truth.
As I complete this piece for the “Standard Chronicles”
I am reminded of my sure-fire way of locating something truthful. It is something
that will set me back on course, something that will last and bring some serenity
to my life. I find it in my faith. It is summed up in these words of Jesus the
Christ, “If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will
know the truth, and the truth will set you free. (John 8:31-32)
After some semblance of normalcy, we are entering a
second phase of mask mandates, potential lockdowns and no children in the
playgrounds. The only thing consistent in the messaging we receive from our government
and medical community are inconsistencies.
Not wanting to be an alarmist, I will make every effort to do with all
the bulls—t what I did with the dogs—t two years ago.
Bradford Bosworth August
2021
