Recently we went to Arkansas to spread my brothers ashes in one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. The day before we left I went into Atril Fibrillation and spent the next 8 days driving while in this condition. While this condition is fairly common in older people, to let it go 8 days without treatment is not. Upon return I went to my doctor and was sent straight to the hospital. The next day they did a procedure to shock my heart back into normal rhythm. It worked mostly but I still have moments of Atril. My heart is working a 50% to 60% of efficiency. I am taking meds that will bring it into good working order within 60 days. I am on oxygen both at home and when I go out.
My thoughts:
I celebrate the ignorance of my adventure above but because of it I know where my brother is spending eternity and that is a wonderful thing. A small group of us met at a filling station in Melbourne, Ar. on a beautiful crisp spring morning just after a cleansing rain storm the night before. We were greeted there by the County Sheriff, who with light flashing led us out of town and back into the green Ozark Mountains. Every car that we approached on the trip pulled over to the side of the road to witness in silence the passing of our procession.
The road was always up on the side of the hill that formed small grass valleys so that you went you had the nearness of nature on one side and looked down into narrow valley floors that were populated with small herds of cattle and deer on the other side. As we progressed, the road got smaller and smaller until we came to a sign that simply said “Pavement Ends.” At this point the road became a two rut gravel trace with an occasional wet spot caused by the runoff of the rain the night before.
Then we came to a upward curve in the road where we came into a clearing which contained a small church built in 1876. The Knob Creek Church. The simple form of the church was a small two story rectangular wood sided building with plain simple windows. There was a small bell tower on the ridge line above the entry. To the side of the entry door was a stone which contained the history of the congregation. As you entered the church there was a pull rope over a nail just inside the door that hung to the floor so that children could ring that bell. The interior was simple and had never been touched with paint. The pulpit was a simple raised platform with columns to complete its form. The pews were worn smooth from use and the top edge their backs were smoothly rounded almost into a sharp edge. Out back was a plain simple outhouse. The simplicity of this building is one of the best examples of the life of the kind of people that settled this land. They no longer worship there but hold services on Christmas and Easter. It is also available for weddings and reunions.
My brother will spend his days in a pasture close to a old growth black walnut tree whose droppings show the efforts of squirrels to enjoy their contents.
The family that owns the land were my brother’s extended family and looked at him as part of their family. These are the people with whom my brother most enjoyed spending time. They are folks just plain simple folks that have lived up these valleys all their lives, raised their children and are good neighbors to others.
After the ceremonies as people started their returns home, I stood there looking over where my brother choose to complete his journey of ashes to ashes and dust to dust. As the birds started their evening serenade all is right in the world.
Good Bye Brother Dale
Dad of Girls 