This story comes courtesy of my son Peter, an addiction counselor with Western Montana Mental Health Clinic. He also serves on the Sanders County Lands Board and the Sex Trafficking Task Force. The story recalls one of his youthful experiences from this time of the year and also reflects on the situation the nation is now experiencing.
– Joe Reinschmidt
The wilderness
by Peter Joseph Reinschmidt
A precursor before you read this, don’t expect a pearl of wisdom. You see, I was typing an assessment for an individual who needed inpatient substance abuse care when the following memory flashed through my mind like a lightning bolt. Why? I hope by the end we can all have an answer to that.
My mind flashed to the fall season when I was just a kid – old enough to walk well, but before my teen years. It was time to put up the posted signs letting people know they could not hunt on our property, a 60-acre farm on the Parma side of Ogden-Parma Townline Road.
I was eight, maybe nine, when Dad determined I could handle the trek. I remember the smell of the black marker he used to write the name, address, etc. on each posted sign. They were paper initially but later mostly orange plastic – progress, I suppose. We filled out the appropriate information on the signs and placed them in the game pocket sewn on the back of the hunting coat. A side pocket was filled with nails, and he grabbed the yellow and red hatchet – Dad’s boy scout hatchet with his initials carved on it, which he still has at 84, as well as the coat.
When you are about waist high, it is an adventure filled with awe and worry. We started on the south end of the west hedgerow and walked northerly along it, replacing signs or refreshing the marking on remaining signs. No problem as I could still see the house. Then we passed through an intersecting hedgerow and entered into the “second field.” Okay, not bad, the house was still partially visible through the trees, and my legs were keeping up with the red and tan coat ahead of me. The license holder pinned in the middle bounced around with each step my Dad took.
But then came the “wilderness” as we crossed the drainage ditch and ventured into the furthest part of the property, which had never been worked by my grandparents. It was somewhat wet and densely wooded – no home in sight, no field to see, just trees – a true wilderness. Arriving at the rear property line, we were now a full half-mile from the road. Our venture continued across that line and then turned south along the east line but still in dense woods and undergrowth as we refreshed or replaced the posted signs.
As my young legs began to tire, we burst out of the woods into the pasture lot. The familiar rock wall/fence was there, and the barn roof was visible in the distance. Safe! No worse for the wear – just muddy, dirty, sweaty, and wishing my strides could be longer. Now it was follow the hedgerow cross Northrup Creek, and we made it! I am not sure Jim Bridger had greater challenges as he fur trapped and explored the Rockies.
As these words came to be, I realized the purpose – memories. In these trying times, we tend to focus on the negative or what should be. We can then be encouraged by things from the past or perhaps find solace in them. With that, we can strive to create more for ourselves and those we love. Like a fire that warms our bodies, memories can warm our soul and mind. Lest we ever not strive to move forward and create more. As my heart looks to settle from the memory rush, it comes to me that not everyone has positive or healthy memories. Looking back is painful for some, and difficult times exasperate their situation. Maybe as we go through this unique time together, we can help others go through their personal “wilderness.” Help them see the top of the barn with memories they can fall back on or share with others, memories that fuel their soul positively. You see, my wilderness that I ventured with Dad was the farm my grandparents bought in 1929, and Jim Bridger’s was the West, a reminder that everyone’s situation is unique, and each of us needs help to navigate our challenges and find joy, peace, and value.
The point is that we should all be that hunting coat with the hatchet handle and posted signs hanging out – a beacon for others to follow that says, “no worries, we will get home,” and there are some pretty cool things along the way despite the mud, sweat, tears, and pain.
