Author: John DeLap

Only after the last tree has been cut down. Only after the last river has been poisoned. Only after the last fish has been caught. Only then will you find that money cannot be eaten. – Cree Indian Prophesy

Writing is the Latin of our times. The modern language of the people is video and sound.” – Lawrence Lessig

Life has no meaning a priori…it’s up to you to give it a meaning, and value is nothing but the meaning that you choose.” – Jean-Paul Sartre

I have never been too much into idols. I suppose if asked I would say my parents and Grampa. No sports superstars, movie actors, and certainly no politicians. My idols have always been close to home.

What a glorious world we live in! Every day is a gift, an opportunity to discover the undiscovered, to listen to the unheard, to give to the ungiving, to touch the untouched, to share of the fruits we have been given.  What will I do with the fruits of my life…will I share their sweetness or will they spoil in the bowl? 

When the Last Whale Dies

We walk along the path together.

I stop to follow a caterpillar and watch the ants march.

You laugh at my fascination with things so small.

I watch the birds dance in the trees and I call them by name.

You laugh at what you believe is their insignificance.

I stop to watch a fox hunting in the distance,

Again, you laugh.

Will you laugh when the last whale dies?

Snake Doctor – dragonflies and damselflies (refers to a folk belief that these insects follow snakes around and stitch up injuries they may sustain).

People want power over something or somebody. This is a seemingly insatiable desire. It could be control over the day, a loved one, a child, a coworker, the moment, the week, or, in some cases, the world. This is futile because there are simply too many moving parts for a person to control all the levers and buttons to satisfy the selfish whims and desires of the human ego. It is quite enough to control oneself and that can be a handful. 

“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” – Seneca

Dad – You were a terrible driver-

But a great father.

You were always there when I needed you

Mom- your star still shines bright.

Lonely nights.

But I know you are in the River of Heaven

Dad was a civil engineer; Missouri School of Mines and Metallurgy- Rolla, class of 1952. He was a structural engineer by education but gravitated towards water and sewer infrastructure design during his long career. He helped establish an engineering consulting firm in 1953 that was in business for fifty years before he sold it and retired. When I think about part of his legacy, he helped establish funding and engineering solutions to provide water to rural citizens in Ohio, Indiana, and Kentucky. He was a humble man who didn’t blow his own horn but yet what he accomplished speaks for itself. Inside, though there was the gregarious Irishman who would easily sidle up to the bar next to you and share a drink. He knew no stranger.

Mom was German…100% or was that 2,000%? You can believe there was an order in our house. A place for everything and everything in its place. If you got a toy out you put it away when you were done and nothing else came out until the floor was spotless. Coats were hung up, clean clothes put away, and dirty clothes placed in their appropriate baskets in the laundry room. Darks, lights, and whites, each in their place. Order, order, order. Dinner was served promptly at 6:00 and bedtime was at 10:00. I once got in an after-school fight with a neighborhood boy. I was wearing my clean Cub Scout uniform and ended up with ample grass stains on both knees of my blue scout pants to show for it. She was not happy. I was out of order and received a hearty paddling for my misdeed.

The order became painfully obvious after Mom passed and Dad was left alone in the house. Can you say train wreck and disorder?  I can imagine Mom doing a double flip and two or three rolls in her grave at the sight. I have quite a bit of that German in me but also a healthy dose of Dad’s Irish ancestry. I like order, but a shot of whisky isn’t something to turn your nose up at.

I continue to celebrate both of my parents even though they left this earthly life quite some time ago. Their spirits continue to color my world and guide me from beyond.

Epic vacations, a Wheel Camper and Pontiac Bonneville; at first they might appear incongruent. Read on and I think they will all come together.

So it all began with a wheel camper in tow behind an old Pontiac Bonneville; probably the mid-sixties model. It easily slept six, the car that is. The epic vacations began in tow behind that Bonnevile. We also fit nicely in the Wheel Camper; Mom, Dad and me and my three siblings. We were cozy to say the least. Quick aside, I believe those experiences have bonded us now that Mom and Dad are gone. Backing the car and Wheel Camper out of the driveway heading to who knows where was like a baptism, a new birth. A Tabula Rasai, if I might borrow from the Latin.

Mom and I kept a running diary, haphazardly at best on my part. I was eleven and prone to wandering off. More on that later. I still do have the decals we would buy at the campground store to remind us where our adventures had taken us (see above and below).

Mind you I refer to these as epic road trips because they often lasted no less than two weeks. It boggles my mind to this day. I saw the country and Dad would pull over if there was something worth seeing. I don’t know for sure that there was a.dedicated itinerary, perhaps no pathway really; no plane to catch, or do we have to be in Wichita before sundown. If I asked where we were Dad would throw the road map back to me and tell me to figure it out. I still love maps and have a strong sense of direction. But we just drove. I think my sense of adventure was born from these days. Perhaps I’m ready to start a new one….

There is no order below nor is it a list of all the places we went. They are simply offered as just a few of the memories I still harbor of those epic vacations so many summers ago. Read at your leisure and let your imagination carry you along. It kind of reminds me of James Brown’s song, Night Train. Mind you my Night Train was a Wheel Camper and the backseat of a Pontiac Bonneville.

• Yellowstone National Park
• South Dakota
• Grand Tetons
• Wyoming
• Mt. Rushmore
• Iowa
• Nebraska
• Montana
• Gettysburg
• New Hampshire
• Maine
• Massachusetts 
• Niagara Falls
• Martha’s Vineyard
• And many points in between; north, south, east, and west.

This post is more a free-flow of ideas and thoughts rather than being centered on a specific topic. I hope you find something useful or thought-provoking below…

Lebe dein Leben, wie es vorgesehen ist – Live your life as it is intended. 

Do animals have fun?

I don’t know, but when I’m not having fun,

I sure think that my dog’s life wouldn’t be so bad.

Fed, watered, and walked, then she would crawl up on the couch and go to sleep.

Rinse and repeat.

I often pray that there will always be flowers, butterflies, gentle breezes, rains to nourish the earth, a sun to warm my body, a moon to brighten the darkest night, and the warm embrace of those I love. Then I won’t have to become my dog to find peace.

Called Dad today from the pay phone outside the King Copper Motel in Copper Harbor, Michigan to wish him a Happy Father’s Day. Ferry leaves for Isle Royale in the morning. In my youth, I wanted to be the opposite of him, but now I want to be just like him. – Journal, June 18, 2000

Funny how so many things come full circle.

Resist those things that drag you down. Fight gravity.

Be confident in who you are; insist on yourself. You don’t have to be a leader of men but you must at least be able to lead yourself. 

We should all have a stuffed animal and take afternoon naps. 

“The first of April is the day we remember what we are the other 364 days of the year.” – Mark Twain

Think as I think,” said a man”

or you are abominably wicked,

You are a toad.”

And after I thought of it,

I said: “I will then, be a toad.”

– Stephen Crane

I don’t consider myself a hoarder but I am a pack rat. I have been in the homes of hoarders and some rooms were so full as to render them unusable. I can freely move through every room in my house. True hoarding is considered a psychological disorder. A”pack rat” compulsively collects everyday items and saves them for later use.

 I have a propensity to save quite a few things I come across. These “castaways” include screws, brackets, wire, washers, nuts and bolts, wall anchors, rope, and just about any part left over from product assembly projects. My theory is that you just never know when something might come in handy and I love being handy. In fact, I just used two leftover screw eyes and a length of rope to hang some dowel rods in my workshop (I rescued the dowel rods from the trash at work). 

All the various and sundry pieces, parts, and other castaways are neatly organized and readily accessible, waiting to be put to use on one of my diy projects.   Reminds me of one of my Mom’s mantras, “A place for everything, and everything in its pace.” 

There is a good measure of satisfaction when I use one of my “castaways” to complete a project. I’m sure that when my children are going through my stuff after I’ve gone to that workshop in the sky, a common refrain will be, “For the love of God, why did he keep that?”. Until then, I’ll keep collecting castaways and putting them to good use.

The woods were filled with the vibrant colors of fall; I never tire of seeing the changes each season brings.

But of them all, I think I like autumn best with its symbolism of birth and death. Spring and summer give way to fall and the inevitable descent into winter. Thoreau said that spring is a lesson in immortality. Fall is a lesson of death and dying.

The sky filled with cumulus clouds as their shadows passed over me. The wind carried with it the cold days that lay ahead.

I turned up my collar and shivered a little, 

eager for the sun to peek through again.

I had sat the edge of a small clearing, leaning against a sturdy oak; easily much older than me.

Reaching into my pack, I pulled out one apple. I had chosen this apple carefully- firm, dark red, a mottle of green but no blemishes-the perfect apple.

In anticipation of the burst of flavor I know would come, I polished it on my jacket.

As it glistened in my hand it beckoned me to take that first bite, 

Not disappointed, it was the perfect place and time to savor this ancient fruit. I savored each bite down to the core.

Leaning against that old oak tree I gazed up at the fall sky.

I was soon detached from the present and floated effortlessly through days long past and many apples savored.

Those many blissful moments came crowding over me. But all too soon, the apple was gone and the present intruded into this place 

I arose and shed a silent tear. I knew I would have to wait a while longer before I could return to this tree with an apple in hand.

Author’s Note: There are certain things best savored in the woods. Freshly brewed coffee or tea, a block of cheddar cheese, a little bread, but above all, a good apple.

“…for a man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can afford to leave alone.”  – Henry David Thoreau, Walden

It was just a small sapling when I moved to Roselawn Avenue in the summer of ’08. The recent flood had forced my family out of our home on Sunset Drive (I suppose it was a sunset in many ways, but it was also a sunrise just the same). 

The redbud at the new house had sprouted next to the fence separating my neighbor’s yard from mine. I was convinced that, left to grow, it would somehow damage the man- made barrier. Thus began my attempts to eradicate it. I cut it off at the base, sprayed it with herbicide—I did everything but try to pull it out by the roots—I couldn’t get a firm grip. All my efforts failed and that stubborn little sapling held on.

I eventually gave up and let nature take its course. Other than an occasional pruning, I left it alone, the fence be damned. Left to its own devices, it grew almost twelve feet tall and provided ample shade for a native wildflower garden I planted around its base.

But…it would not bloom. 

It was always full of leaves, but spring would come and go with nary a blossom. What was wrong with my tree? Had I treated it so harshly in its youth that it had turned its back on me? Or maybe the growing conditions weren’t quite right?

Redbuds, to me, have always been one of the sure signs of spring. They are the first native tree in these parts to bathe the woods in color. Their rosy pink blossoms add a vibrant splash against the lingering browns and grays of the winter woods. The dogwoods in their white finery will be out soon but the redbuds lead the way. 

I had largely ignored the redbud this time of year, not expecting to see anything but the green buds of the season’s leaves emerging. As I was going through some final outdoor chores at my soon to be former home I caught a glimpse of something that gave me a chill—my redbud was blooming—awakened from its inflorescent slumber! It was one of those sights that sends a tingle from your heart to your toes. 

I’m not generally superstitious—-I’ve never been too caught up in the whole Friday the 13th thing, or the fears of walking under ladders or breaking mirrors. But, I do draw a clear distinction between things metaphysical and empirical. There are just some things that can’t be measured and placed into a neat and tidy little box or explained by a formula in some textbook. Something about the redbud touched me deep inside, beyond the pink blossoms and the emerging leaves. There was something mystical going on here. Was it bidding me farewell?

The redbud also provided me with an important reminder, reflected in Thoreau’s words above. It took nine years for my redbud to bloom—after I decided to leave it alone—and I am richer for it. The more I try to shape events and their outcomes, the more likely I am to lose control. If I leave more things alone and let them play out they too may bloom at an unexpected hour—and perhaps even give my soul a little metaphysical chill.

“The best portion of a good man’s life is his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.” – William Wordsworth

Kindness and love are the protein of the soul, the building blocks of goodness and love. Random acts of kindness, doing the right thing, smiling at a stranger, or giving a friendly wave to your neighbor are among the foods that nourish the soul. They may at first blush seem simple but they are equally as powerful as if you gave thousands of dollars away. Money burns up but kindness and love live on. So nourish your soul with the good food. Kindness and love are the only currency that really matters.

If I am just a small pebble of kindness and compassion tossed into the sea of humanity my ripples will still be felt on the shores of sadness and despair. Joining with others who care deeply for all humankind, our ripples will become the dawn of new hope and possibility.

If two people met on the street and your name came up in conversation, what would they say about you? If your mirror could tell its tale, what would it reflect?

Be nice. It’s a lot easier than being mean.

Hate hate in all its forms.

We need good stories. People helping people. Caring. Giving. Loving. When enough of these stories well up from our common humanity they will drown out the hatred and bile that seem to dominate the present moment. Be one of the good people.

There is goodness in the world although it doesn’t seem like it. We often have to look hard to find it but it’s there, hidden beneath the gloom and doom. Keep searching for it’s worth the effort and while you’re looking be the goodness you are looking for. 

Love like a mother loves her child.

Earth and Heaven come together when we smile at a stranger, commit an act of kindness, or we are simply good. Not because we want to be patted on the back but because we would rather do it without being noticed.

“Do the right thing. It will gratify some people and astonish the rest.” – Mark Twain 

The Bodhisattva practices great kindness.” – Siddhartha Gautama (Buddha) 

Let your kindness shine through every day. Rediscover the child in your heart.

Author’s Note: In Mahayana Buddhism, a Bodhisattva is a person who is able to reach nirvana but delays doing so out of compassion in order to save suffering beings.

What is it like to be totally alone-so alone that there is no one to talk to, even if I wanted to have a conversation? Being alone in my home, going on a solo walk through our neighborhood, or having the door to my office closed is not being totally alone. There is always someone available with whom to converse, if I desire. Now extend being totally alone for days rather than hours and add to it a place where there is no cell phone service, no cars, and very little if any human generated noise.

This place for me has often been Isle Royale National Park, located near the north shore of Lake Superior. I have experienced many days of being totally alone while solo hiking and kayaking on the island. When I am totally alone the sounds of nature are much more crisp and clear. All of my senses are heightened, in part, because of the need to be totally aware of my surroundings. I don’t have another set of eyes or ears to watch out for me so I am responsible for my own safety. I miss those I am close to but I don’t miss the noise of civilization. As I talk to myself, the sound of my voice startles me-it seems almost foreign. And I do talk to myself. We have had a lot of  good conversations and done quite a both of soul-searching during these moments alone.

When I return to civilization I am immediately confronted by the noise and seemingly endless supply of problems and bad news. The noise of civilization begins in the early morning hours and continues till the close of day. As I drift back into my daily routine, I am reminded why I sought out silence and solitude in the first place. I feel a little like a sojourner in civilized life and I have this longing to again be totally alone. 

Author’s Note: If interested, I have listed a few books that can provide a better perspective of what being truly alone is like. Three are about being alone on water while the others are on land. There is something about being alone on water that is profoundly different than being on land. You just can’t walk out to the nearest outpost. Both of these photos were taken on Isle Royale on a solo kayaking trip. The top one is my solo tent at Lane Cove and the bottom photo was taken from Belle Isle.

1. The Long Way by Bernard Moitessier (Sailed around the world alone in an around the world yacht race in 1968)
2. Alone by Admiral Richard E. Byrd (Spent six months alone in Antarctica)
3. Sailing Alone Around the World by Captain Joshua Slocum (Sailed alone around the world in 1895)
4. Adrift by Steven Callahan (Spent seventy-six days lost at sea)
5. Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe (a classic)

“We are all sculptors and painters and our material is our own flesh and bones.” – Henry David Thoreau

I have come to embrace my ignorance. Even if I live to be a hundred, I realize I will never know as much as I had hoped for and will forever remain ignorant of many things. If all the knowledge in the world were contained in a single volume, I would still be stuck in the preface. 

But, I don’t view my ignorance as a bad thing-in fact I think it’s good. It compels me to want to learn; carve out a slice of my world and try to learn more about it; to always maintain a sense of wonder and awe at what surrounds me. And, it’s never too late to learn something new.

I believe failure and ignorance are better teachers than success or thinking you know it all (i.e. arrogance). Success, I think, often breeds complacency while failure teaches one to be humble and endeavor to never stop learning (learn from your mistakes, right?) But be careful how high the pedestal is that you place yourself on – it can be a long way down when you fall.  As they say, pride goeth before a fall. And it isn’t the fall that will hurt, it’s that sudden stop.

There’s an old saying that ignorance is bliss but not always true in my case. My mistakes often compel me to want to learn more. Why? Why did that happen? What did I learn from my mistake? When I ask those questions perhaps I’ll learn something new and unexpected along the way.

“But great grand schemes will get you grief. Take what you need, that’s all. A light craft takes the wind and skims the water lightly.”

 – Yuan Mei from What I have Seen