Post #14.12, Thursday, November 26, 2020

Historical setting: Along the ridges of the Pyrenees, 6th Century

         Nic and I finally make a plan not to make any plan until we see if this neighbor has compassion for this shepherd. Maybe our consciences will bind us here to care for him; or we might find we can continue our journey knowing that the shepherd and all his sheep will be looked after by a caring neighbor. Surely we can’t avoid winter anymore. It is coming now with every breath of wind colder than the last. The black tinge of the hoarey frosts marks the lost growing season, now turned to the bleak and timeless season for waiting.

         We leave the donkey and a few supplies that the shepherd will need here in the upper pasture shelter and we pack our remaining supplies and fleeces behind us on our horses as we head north. The young shepherd barely acknowledges our departure. He doesn’t even ask where we are going or even if we will return.

         “Nic, did your old tribal priest tell you of the ancient Hebrew adage that ‘the father has eaten sour grapes, and the son’s teeth are set on edge’?”

         “I’ve heard that. For all that poor fellow’s fighting words he must have been incapable of standing up to his father’s senseless beatings. No wonder he wanted the leathers from my saddle bindings to make himself a whip.”

         “That’s the same thought I had. He wept with his longing for the beatings he will miss.  In all his grief and sorrow he yearns for thrashings because, he said, he would know his father ‘noticed him.’

         “I imagine only the love of God can loosen this bondage of hurt and lead him beyond the cycle it is.”

         “How will he ever notice God’s love? He hasn’t even a notion of a parent’s love.”

         Dear God, Are there any simple miracles of love waiting to be scattered down on earth from heaven?  Please let the snows of grace fall on this grieving shepherd and his sheep. Amen.

         This hilltop I was told is within sight of the neighbors, and here we find the longest view. Directly below us is a small pasture area, with a flock of about twenty sheep being tended by two who are surely these neighbor’s daughters.  Not much further to the north is that spiral of hearth-smoke rising from behind a knoll, undoubtedly the home-fires of these neighbors.

(Beyond that… continues Tuesday, December 1)

Post #14.11, Wednesday, Nov. 25, 2020

Historical setting: Along the ridges of the Pyrenees, 6th Century

“From that hilltop” the young shepherd explains,  “You can see the smoke where the hearth-fire burns for the house of the neighbors.

There are some good hiding places on that hill so you can watch the daughters a long time and no one will see you.”

         “I’m pretty sure we don’t need to hide from them. In fact Nic and I may actually want to speak to them. Do the daughters have parents, or who should we find to talk with?”

         “Why would you do that?  Are you going to tell them about my hiding places on the hill?”

         “Is that important for them to know?”

         “It’s my secret! If my father found out he would thrash me good. You know, my father has leather strips like the braids the soldier’s horse wears. Even when he is so sick my father can still thrash me.”

         “But now he is dead and his body is buried; don’t you suppose your father is with the angels in heaven? And from what I’ve heard there’s not a lot of thrashing going on there. Now it’s up to you to decide these things for yourself.”

         I’ve returned the shepherd to his sheep so Nic and I together offer him the simple logic of right choices.

         I was saying,  “If you think something you choose to do deserves a good thrashing, then you just know not to do it.  But if you are thinking of doing something that makes things good and better, like finding good grasses for your flocks, or sharing your shelter with visitors then the choices you make, even without your father’s judgments and punishments are probably good choices.”

         Nic adds,  “You don’t need thrashing anymore to know what to do and what not to do.  You are the man now, and can decide things for yourself.”

         He argues. “Yea, so you say. But sometimes I just need a good whipping so I can know my father notices me.” And here is another verse of the young man’s loud and wailing cries of grief. Is he grieving for the whippings he will be missing?

         He interrupts his own weeping and gnashing to recall details of the neighbors, “They have both a man and a woman that are a papa and moma there.  My father said if that papa didn’t keep that woman he wouldn’t have gotten so overrun with daughters.”

         “Yes, I would suppose there is some truth in that.”

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #14.10, Tuesday, November 24, 2020

Historical setting: Along the ridges of the Pyrenees, 6th Century

We are somewhere in mountains on the edge of winter and we find ourselves face-to-face with a grieving young shepherd. It was my thought that there must be a community of shepherds or farmers in this area or how could this farm sell its mutton and wool?  The young shepherd’s idea for finding help seems to be, as he said, “capturing slaves.” If he is thinking of shackling these two of us he will surely find we make worse slaves than we do volunteer shepherds.  We have horses and supplies. We could just leave as we are already planning to do before winter takes a firm hold; but it seems so heartless to leave him here alone and so needy.

         “So I was wondering,” I ask the youth, “are there others who keep flocks in this area? And where is it you go to trade your wool?”

         “I am not allowed to go there.” He answers.

         “Where?”

         “Over the hills to the neighbors.”

         “You have neighbors?”

         “Yes, but my father said their flock is few, and that neighbor has only daughters so I am not allowed to go there.”

         “Oh, I see. How might we find this neighbor?”

         “I know where they are, but I can’t go.”

         “Maybe if you tell me the direction Nic and I can ride over and see what the situation is there while you are taking the next watch of the sheep.”

         “The soldier said not to walk on my sore foot.”

         “You have a crutch now, and I’ll just walk you back on the donkey whenever you are ready to go.”

         After a brief lesson on using a crutch the shepherd mounts the donkey and I take the lead line, and we trudge back to the pasture.  The sleepy white dog follows a few yards behind us.

         The shepherd offers lots of chatter about the neighbors, especially considering that has been a forbidden world to him.

          “My father said they not only have daughters, but they also have goats. I tried to go see that too, but from the hill where I hide to watch them I only see the sheep and the daughters. They must keep the goats hidden.”

         “No doubt. From what I’ve heard, goats don’t flock well.”

         As we climbed the ridge onto the path to the pasture, the young shepherd points to a hilltop behind us to the north. “From that hill you can see the neighbor’s pasture and sheep.”

 (Continues tomorrow)

Post #14.9, Thurs., November 19, 2020

Historical setting: Along the ridges of the Pyrenees, 6th Century

         “So what will we do now?”

         The father is buried. The sheep have no shepherd. The shepherd is grieving. The dog and the donkey are consoling. The winter is creeping down on us all from the north. We need to use these days for travel while we can.

         Nic speaks it aloud, “Dear God, what should we do now?”

         “You know Nic, God doesn’t always answer in the season of our need.”

         “I know, Brother Laz, so we will need to make a human choice. Since you are so good at grief you should go to the house where the shepherd is.”

         “’Good at grief?’ No one is good at grief. But I will take a turn to walk over the ridge to the house and even if I can do nothing to comfort the shepherd at least I can bring back the dog to help us guard the sheep tonight.”

         “So you think we will stay another night?” Nic calls as I am leaving.

          “I counted eighty-seven sheep last night, Nic, just so you’ll know; in case you decide to count them again.”

         I walk toward the smoke rising on this crispy autumn morning considering every possibility my imagination can muster except the one that says Nic and I can winter in a sheep’s pasture with no one but an angry, grieving shepherd to bring us our daily gruel. The choices seem either we leave the shepherd alone and needy or we spend the winter in a pasture lean-to.

         The house was easy to find, not just by the smoke but by the worn footpath. And it’s surely been a long night of wailing here. Even the donkey and the dog are, or were, asleep out here near the door. At the sound of my step the dog is barking furiously and the shepherd has come to the door of the little house.

         “I came down to offer my sympathy and see how you are doing.”

         “So the soldier told you I need a Christian?”

         “No, I just came while Nic is taking a turn watching the sheep. We aren’t sure if they need to be watched every minute or if you leave them up there sometimes on their own. We’ve not had much experience shepherding.”

         “Yea, I was thinking you two aren’t much use, but now I’m so alone.” Tears of grief well in his voice. “So I will need to capture some slaves to help me.”

         “Surely you need help, but …”

(Continues Tuesday, November 24)

Post #14.8, Weds., November 18, 2020

Historical setting: Along the ridges of the Pyrenees, 6th Century

         The winter of last night posed a mere warning that the season is turning. All day a southern breeze breeches the ridge from the valley. It would have been a good day to continue our journey.

         Alone, I was able to move the sheep into the night pasture where the horses graze. I’ve spent this day inspecting each sheep and gathering a sack of dung to make a watch fire for this night. I wonder if I’ve been forgotten here, if my patron has found a more needy man to care for? Surely someone will remember these sheep — I imagine.

         This new morning I’m still at the tasks feeding and watering the horses, and setting the sheep to pasture when here is Nic, walking alone on the ridge. I shout. He turns toward me, not speaking until he is near.

         “The shepherd has no more raging; he just cries loud and long and inconsolably. The dog and the donkey are more comfort for him than I.”

         “What happened?” I asked. “Where did you go?”

         “Look beyond those hilltops.  Do you see the smoke rising?”

         “It looks like someone has a home and hearth over there.”

         “Yes. When we first came the shepherd was dealing with his worst fear, that the smoke of his family home was no longer rising where he could see it above the hills. Two days before, he left his father in a fit of rage, and admits he was running away when he injured his foot so couldn’t walk back to make amends. He watched for the smoke to be the sign that everything was all right. But he saw no smoke. We showed up amid his worry and even in the cold storm there was still no smoke. His fear was that his father’s powerless raging was, in truth, his last gasp of life.

         And it was just as the shepherd feared. When we arrived at the house his father was dead, probably a few days before, maybe even as the shepherd was running away. I buried the shepherd’s father in the best grave I could cut into the mountain, but it was a shallow grave, so the shepherd and the donkey gathered stones. All that while, and all night long and maybe even now, the shepherd wails his goodbyes to his only family. I am so little comfort for him so I came back up here.”

(Continues Tomorrow)

Post #14.7, Tuesday, November 17, 2020

Historical setting: Along the ridges of the Pyrenees, 6th Century C.E.

One mystery of courage is that it wears many faces rarely as we expect — the human moment between panic and training when the proper response comes forth and a crisis is averted. But doesn’t courage also come in the stoic intensity of a donkey’s stubbornness or the fury of the dog barking away an intruder?

         While Nic ran back up to rescue the donkey from a beating, the big white dog awakened from his daily snooze and now has hurried over to side with his fellow critter. From where I stand amid the sheep I see Nic carries the shepherd’s crutch and he is leading the donkey while the shepherd rides on it and the big white dog follows close.  As they are walking away the shepherd shouts back instructions to move the sheep to the night pasture at sunset.

         “Where’re you g…” My question went unheard and now I’m alone with this many sheep. I know I should know the number of them. Are they one hundred? And should one be missing would I leave them all to search for the one, or is that only a parable describing the Holy?

         Dear God, Thank you for taking notice of each critter of us. When it’s you who counts us do you count sheep and donkeys and horses as the same worth as people?  Yes, of course, I would suppose so. I mean we’re all part of the fullness of life, though I would suppose the prayers of the donkey have easier answers than my own, or maybe not. Thank you, Dear God, for listening to my complicated human wonders and to my woes as well. Amen.

         A large bird circles above and now there are more dark birds. How do they know this shepherd who I am has no gift for this work? It could be there is a needy lamb in this flock and the birds see a frailty I’m overlooking. I try to walk through the flock taking a careful look at each grazing lamb. They do each have their differences, but I see no injury or impairment that would interest an ominous seeker of carrion. By the time I look again at the sky, after counting and inspecting the sun is a bit further across the blue altitude of day and the birds are circling another place across the hills. It could be, they were just flying over.  But now I know there are eighty-seven sheep.

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #14.6, Thursday, November 12, 2020

Historical setting: Along the ridges of the Pyrenees, 6th Cent. C.E.

         It is Nic’s nature to persevere in kindness. It’s how I have a faithful patron after all my ways of disappointing him. It is who he is. So why would I expect anything other than his kindness when the shepherd asks us to stay on help?  We both know the winter is coming on and our supplies will grow thin with a third person helping himself to all of it. And neither of us knows how much longer it will take to cross these mountains or even to find a village or farm that can set our supplies right again. Yet Nic agrees to stay on without giving it one little selfish thought.

         Dear God, thank you for this example of selfless mercy. Amen.

         The shepherd is a demanding master. His “duty instructions” are replete with detail.  It’s not just, “watch the sheep.” It is more like: “The two of you will stay far apart, one on one side of the sheep, and the other on the other. There will be no talking with one another when you are on duty.”

         It’s not like we are hired men who are paid. And we’re not the irresponsible sorts who would neglect the sheep simply to indulge in chatter; though there is a conversation Nic and I need to have without the watchful eye of the shepherd.

         Just now the shepherd appears again at the hillcrest. This time he is sitting on our donkey with his crutch in one hand so that he can wallop the stationary beast into motion. But it is a donkey. Once it is stopped no amount of beating is going to get it moving. It is stilled by fear. We can see this thing is likely to go badly for the donkey as the shepherd dismounts and prepares to flail the beast. Nic is the closer of us. He calls to him.

         “Stop! Brother Shepherd! If you wish to ride the donkey you will need to know something about donkeys!” Nic is hurrying to the top of the hill.  If you beat the donkey it won’t go. Wait! I’ll show you!”

         Nic reaches the man and the donkey before any harm is done. He takes the lead line in hand then takes the crutch from the shepherd and gives the lame man a leg up. Nic leads as the donkey takes a cautious step forward.

(Continues Tuesday, November 17)

Post #14.5, Wednesday, November 11, 2020

Historical setting: Along the ridges of the Pyrenees, 6th Cent, C.E.

         While Nic has provided the shepherd with a proper wrap for his foot, I turned the stick he carries into a finely crafted crutch but apparently he preferred the rough-hewn rod. I defend, “I thought you would need a crutch to help you walk until your foot heals.”

         Now he is flinging the crutch at me. I move quickly enough to avoid the first whack, and he is slow enough gathering himself to his feet (or foot) and recovering his crutch that I can easily avoid the beating. Then Nic steps up behind him and disarms him of his “weapon.”

         “Tell Brother Lazarus ‘thank you’ for making the crutch because  you will need it. He provided you a kindness.”

         The youth pleads with Nic, “But that was my rod! I need that rod for the fight! You need to teach me to fight with the rod!”

         “Sticks grow on trees my friend. You can get another. You will find this crutch is more useful in your healing.”

         The first howl of winter flings its ice crystals at this mountain ridge long into the night as though the morning light would sparkle winter. But it is barely November. On this new day the ice is melting moist into earth. Some of the crystals cling to the sheep’s long wools, and shine slick on north sides of rocks and posts, but otherwise the storm is gone.

         Before the light of day fully wakened us the shepherd has opened our sacks of grain, and he is now sharing a morning meal with the donkey and the big white dog. The Rose is taking notice of this as he usually eats first. Nic awakens with great concern and immediately checks the supply of oats, relieved to find that only the sack of our food has been tapped.

         As we tend the horses the well-fed donkey goes for a happy little romp in the pasture enclosure.  The big white dog is close by him. Who would have thought, in all our tenuous whinnies and stranger welcomes it would be the donkey and the dog that would find the bond?

         The shepherd counts every sheep and reports his amazement that none are missing. It is true. We didn’t steal a single sheep in the middle of the stormy night as only the shepherd would imagine. Today we are preparing to travel as soon as the sun melts the icy patches from the rocks. But the shepherd pleads for us to stay.

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #14.4, Tuesday, November 10, 2020

Historical setting: Along the ridges of the Pyrenees, 6th Cent. C.E.

         The shepherd is enamored by great possibilities that Nic will teach him courage and the fighting prowess of a mighty warrior. His chatter lets us see he wishes to attain personal power through becoming a fearsome danger to everyone around him.

         Nic is prepared to begin the lessons in owning the power by offering his wondrous animal training technique.  “So, when I got The Rose, my first horse, everyone was telling me ‘to train a spirited animal like this first you need to show him who is boss.’ Having been in the military for so many years I do know this is an important first step — training rank.  So I said to The Rose, ‘You need to know who is boss, and I will tell you: When it is a man thing like entering into buildings, or walking on two legs and speaking, then I am the boss; but when it’s a horse thing, you are the horse so you are the boss.’ So we’ve agreed to that, and it seems to be working out well. I’ve needed no leather thongs for flailing, only braids for holding the saddle onto his back so he can do all the trots and gallops and leaps and dances horses tend to do and I’ll stay astride. We’ve worked it out as though we were a captain and his mate.” The Rose standing at the critter end of the lean-to, twitches an ear and offers a snort of agreement.

         “So you can see, I can’t loan these leathers to you for flailing of an animal. They belong to The Rose and he won’t share them for that purpose. He always sides with the critters.”

         I have crafted a fine crutch from the Shepherd’s rod, and Nic offers his medical common sense advising the shepherd not to step down hard on that foot until it has healed.

         “But how will I follow the sheep?” he rails. “And when your food runs out I have to walk back to my father’s farm for more supplies.”

         We had kind of hoped to be in Gaul when our food runs out. And the crutch I’ve crafted will hardly meet his need in carrying a pack of food supplies. But I present my handiwork.

         “What have you done to my fine stout rod? How will I do my battles with this short padded stick?”

         He doesn’t seem pleased with my fine craftsmanship.

(Continued tomorrow)

Post #14.3, Thursday, November 5, 2020

Art Footnote: This is what happens when a pacifist artist illustrates a lesson in martial arts.

Historical setting: Along the ridges of the Pyrenees, 6th Century

         The shepherd, our belligerent host, defends his story. “I told you, I was injured by the rod and the lashes when I was fighting. I wasn’t running from my father!  I am a fighter, not a runner!”

         His persistence threatens his credibility.

         I explain, “It doesn’t really matter what caused it. Nic can wrap it for you for a better healing.  He’s had lots of soldier training in first aid. Healing takes time. But it will heal.”

         It seems no comfort at all for him to receive affirmation from this pacifist who I am.  I mean what do I know of fighting or of healing from a soldier’s wounds? But my mention of Nic as a soldier has assigned Nic the persona of fighting hero in the eyes of this man who is so anxious to be known also as a fighter.

         “You are a real soldier, Sir?”

         “Retired from the Roman Navy.”

         “So you are truly a fighter and not a runner?”

          “Depends on the need.” Nic answers with simple logic. “Mostly I was a rower.”

         The shepherd rants. “My grandfather was a soldier just like you. He had a sword and a dagger! And just like you he was so fearsome he didn’t even carry a shield! He was always far away fighting in the wars killing off the Franks and Goths and the Romans by the wagon load, except when he came back and then his raging riles flailed a fierce rod on all of us. Everyone cleared far out of his way except my father stayed. He’s not a runner. So I came out here to mind the sheep until I learn to be a fighter too.”

         “And you will learn that here?” Nic asks.

         “I will if you teach me. And if you would hand me the leather thongs I can practice flailing when I train my dog to come when I call him.”

         “So you mean you wish to train your dog to run from you as he already does so well?”

         “No! I want him to do whatever I tell him to do.[Footnote: another dog training tip for the real world] I want to be the master of the dog, like you are the master of your horse. I want to be powerful like you.”

         Meanwhile, I’m quietly at work carving and lashing his rod into a proper and useful crutch so he will be able to move around while his ankle heals; but I whisper under my breath, “Be careful what you wish for, young shepherd.”

         Both men turn their eyes on me – the shepherd heeding my warning — Nic only slightly amused.

         So Nic will need to explain his unique horse “training” technique himself.

(Continues Tuesday, November 10)

[Footnote: another dog training story from Sandy] “I have never been very successful in teaching mine (Great Pyrenees) to COME for no reason.  It was a hoot when I took Blizzard to formal obedience classes and had to call him from across the yard – he checked every blade of grass, the kids on the porch, the trees, and finally got around to me where I was – calling him and jumping up and down. The trainer joked about him all the while. The border collies and golden retrievers all bounded across the yard straight to their owners who would hide around corners or up in a tree.  It was funny and embarrassing, and annoying, for me.”