Sharing a December story

A little about perhaps even less. Lately, well-intentioned people have offered their opinion on what the next chapter of my life should be. For the past couple of years, I have assumed my 'next chapter' would be an eight-mile ride to a nearby funeral home. During those years I have completed a number of medical forms and one of the queries is always, "Who can we contact in case of an emergency?"

I'm always tempted to offer up the name of my totally irresponsible cat, Luna, however I doubt medical people would be amused, so I do something even more irresponsible: I write down the name of the aforementioned funeral home, figuring it will save a lot of time and trouble. Those same forms ask me if I'm allergic to anything, and I always write, "banks." Thus far no one has said anything, likely thinking me a crazy old man. Best to ignore me.

A few days back at dusk a lone coyote sat just east of my house, acting like one of the Roman wolves Romulus or Remus, howling at the moon, or maybe at a very clear Milky Way. Theirs is an otherworldly sound, a long lament, sad, fascinating and spooky. I am one of the few out here who enjoys their presence. Again, a crazy old man who understands that winter is coming on fast, a man who takes his company where he can get it.

Last week, traveling a two-lane to a nearby town, I came to a stop. An American bald eagle was in the middle of the road, feeding off a dead opossum, and she seemed quite content, so a halt was in order. At some point she realized I was there, and she began moving her fabulous wings, eventually lifting off, a slow ballet taking her over ditch and field, away from what might harm her. This is glorious stuff.

Yesterday a barred owl in the hollow was so loud with her song I could hear her even with the windows closed. She reminds me that, even though on some days I feel alone, I'm not. Hers is a siren song, and I must remember that these creatures are sentient beings. They feel pain, sadness, anger, euphoria, fear, grief, all of the emotions we feel. They may not be able to intellectually sort them out as we do, but their little bodies do, in fact, hold those emotions. Our superiority over other creatures is a myth. No dominion here.

Allow me to share a personal, December story. Fifty-five years ago this month a shy high school lad turned sixteen and he nervously asked an older schoolmate for a date, a quiet, soft asking to which she agreed. He was in way over his head but he didn't realize it at the time. Almost every high school boy is in way over his head when it comes to girls. Most won't admit it. Just ask the girls, as they are pretty clear-eyed when it comes to these things.

On his 16th birthday, as a sophomore, he was wrestling varsity at 165 pounds, and he told his new female acquaintance that he was dedicating his match to her, not knowing that he would be up against a wrestler who placed 2nd in the state wrestling tournament the year prior. This was his first year in the sport, but he felt confident, so confident that he ended up on his back, never getting to the second period. End of story. Sort of. Despite his failure on the mat, his new friend stayed with him, until she passed on Christmas Eve two years ago, in the arms of a crazy old wrestler.

Kurt Ullrich lives in rural Jackson County. His book “The Iowa State Fair” is available from the University of Iowa Press