Many of us form attachments to objects that remind us of significant events, places, or people in our lives and go on to collect a few of them. I do. In this room where I write there are a dozen or more such things hanging on the walls or setting on shelves. For the most part I give them no mind, they are taken for granted, but occasionally I do stop to ponder.
For instance there is a framed picture called “Found” hanging near my desk that is a lifelong part of my life. My parents received one as a wedding gift in 1941 and when I was born in 1942, it hung there for me to study and wonder about. The scene depicts a collie dog standing over a small lamb lying on the snowy ground in a storm. In the background a few crows have gathered in anticipation of a meal of lamb, but the collie’s find has deprived them of it. Through the years I have owned a print of the picture and I plan to keep hanging it on my wall.
I purchased a colorful little Viking figurine in Stockholm, Sweden when several family members traveled there to touch base with relatives. Many memories swirl about the figure, such as the grand welcome we received. The older generation could not speak English but needed an interpreter for each conversation. Those my age and younger all spoke English, some quite well. We packed a lot into touring rural areas, spending time in the city of Stockholm, a daylong cruise through the archipelago, eating great food, and visiting the church where my great-grandpa was baptized. Life in this country included liberal vacation time, health care, and low crime in this highly-taxed country which seemed to agree with them. We never heard much grumbling about taxes because they realized what it provided for them.
When my wife and her sister traveled to Rome with a church tour, I made one request of her: bring me a cross of San Damiano. She did find one and it hangs on my wall. There was a time of deep soul-searching when I had found reference to it and began appreciating the message of this crucifix. For one thing, the Christ figure is alive and looks at us with outstretched arms. Symbolism surrounds him. The Ascension is portrayed with a host of angels welcoming him into Heaven, and depicted around him are the Holy Virgin and Saint John the Evangelist, a small rooster, several saints, Mary Magdalene, a small boy who’s been healed, and even more. It all represents to me in high art the Christian story.
A model of the railroad engine that carried the country westward sets on a shelf in front of some history books. About 25,000 of these little engines were built and used in the 1800s. It didn’t have the power to carry it into the 20th century and soon became obsolete. Being a student of that period of history, I purchased the model found thrown in a box of miscellaneous items at a sale. We’ve seen pictures of the golden spike ceremony on the transcontinental railroad where two of these engines, one from the east, one from the west, have met and parked head to head. To test the strength of the Northern Pacific bridge between Bismarck and Mandan, eight of them parked on it. One develops respect for its place in history.
A small framed picture of the M.V. Wickersham floating in calm waters rated a spot on my shelf. I rode it one time when the waters weren’t calm on the Alaskan Marine Highway. The ship was a mainline ferry vessel that passengers and freight rode from point to point in the north. A ship worker drove my car into the hold, and I rode topside for thirty hours. The picture holds the memory of a time when this young man wanted to get out of North Dakota and see some different sights and experience new things. The long drive to Anchorage, some of it on an unimproved highway, some sightseeing, and the southward cruise comprise a strong memory. The ship’s namesake, James Wickersham, became a district judge in Alaska and brought the excesses of Alexander Mackenzie under control. The affair became a favorite history story of mine for the reason that I ended up in Greeley, Colorado and enrolled at the University of Northern Colorado and earned a master’s degree.
Dad told the story of a time he experienced a runaway team of horses. He was loading hay but paused briefly to look up at the camera. Something startled that team, maybe the click of the camera, and they took off. An artist in Bismarck named Gary Miller had painted a scene that looked so much like it that I had to own it. More items set here and there: a picture of a Gleaner combine loaded on a truck that I drove to southern Kansas for wheat harvest; a picture of bale haulers hangs above me; a model of a famous rodeo bull Little Yellow Jacket from Mandan will forever buck off riders on my shelf; a Model A Ford pickup that looks just like the one in Sheldon that I used to see and yearn to own, but I’ve settled for its toy model; and carvings. During a ten year period I carved ducks, geese, cows, people, clocks, shelves, and love spoons.
Yes, I’ve formed attachments to these and a few others that I didn’t bother to name. Someday I suppose they will be thrown out with the other brick and brack of my life, but for they hold a place in full view because they represent my life.
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