October Turtle

By Thomas J. Keenan 

I wrote this as a column for my college newspaper during my Junior year...more than 15 years ago. It was about walking in the woods behind my house in Hopatcong, NJ.

It was Good Friday. The sun was shining and the air was cool and still. I could feel spring in my bones. I went down to the woods behind my house to walk with my father and play with my nephew.

To my nephew Kevin, the woods and the stream and the giant "climbing rocks" were all so brand new to him. I, however, once knew the place well. It is where I had spent much of my childhood. It was where I went when I needed to escape as I got older. It was the place that I had abandoned when I went to high school.

After my father decided to head back to the house with Kevin, I decided to try to find something that was missing in a place I had once called, "The Woods of Life", in a poem written a long time ago.

The woods, for me, holds a special parallel to life. They serve as a parable to my views of life and a reminder of hope in the early spring. How? Let me explain.

The Dam: My friends and I used to spend a great deal of time trying to dam up this one part of the stream at the edge of the swamp. We figured that if we dammed it up, it would form a little pond where fish and other wildlife could live. We looked at it as a challenge.

We spent hours digging at the bank of the stream and dumping the mud and dirt on the dam which was made of everything from old wood to pieces of metal we found scattered around. But we could not stop the water. It would always find a way through the dam or around it. But we kept at it for what seemed like years. We were successful at making the stream wider, but we could never get the "pond" as deep as we wanted it. And anytime that we felt we had got it right, a rain storm would destroy the dam.

There are still pieces of metal and some wood there. The water runs through, not hindered by much. Looking at it on Friday, I would not have guessed that anybody had ever tried to dam up that part of the stream. I wondered why we had spent so much time at that one spot. I wondered why we had never given up. I wonder how such a huge failure to me and my friends now served to put a smile on my face as a warm feeling took over my body. I thought about it and came up with this conclusion.

Sometimes in life we become huge failures. Situations and our own bad decisions can hand us humiliating defeats. We may work very hard at something and give everything we have, yet sometimes everything is just not enough. However, we learn from those failures. It is the failures that teach us more about life. We take these bad times from our pasts and we refer to them in the future.

We also have to remember the old cliche: "It doesn't matter if you win or lose, it is how you play the game." My friends and I did not dam the stream, but I have such good memories from our endeavors. Digging and splashing and laughing and planning all are etched in my mind fondly. We failed at the dam, but we had a damn good time failing.

A year or two after we had failed creating that dam, I made an attempt at another dam, just to prove that I could do it. Sometimes, we have to know when to give up, move on, and start over. I did. I moved up stream to an area with higher banks that could form a natural barrier. I then rolled huge boulders into place in the water. After placing a pipe between the rocks to regulate water flow, I piled thick mud and moss in the gaps of the rocks. The dam was about a foot or two tall, and it was a complete success. I took my previous failures and used them to succeed. Eventually, the dam became too successful and was partially destroyed by someone else to return the rest of the stream's flow. Yet, even now, my dad had to build a little bridge out of old tires and trees so that my nephew could cross the once thin and shallow stream. I beat the stream.

The Swamp: In the woods, there is a swamp that spreads out over a relatively large area. Throughout it is scattered moss, covered islands of dead tree stumps or mud. In order to cross the swamp, you have to hop from island to island, hoping the island doesn't sink. Every so often, you may slip and find yourself up to your ankles in mud or water. As you travel through it, it seems like it will never end. The other side is so difficult to see and dead trees lie all around. You can get confused and lost easily.

There are times when life seems like this murky swamp. Things seem bleak and it seems that hopes and dreams lie dead all around. Like the waters, life seems stagnant, and sometimes you cannot do anything but pray that you don't fall into these waters. There are times when you don't feel like hopping to another island because you are afraid, afraid of what the next step may bring. You don't know if the next island will give under your weight or that you may not jump far enough and land in mud. It is this place in my life that I feel I am at now.

You know you cannot go back and sometimes you just want to stay in one spot. But you must move on. The swamps in life are stagnant and scary, but you have no choice but to continue on. You just have to realize that you will eventually find your way out. There is another side, a place where the footing is sure. A place where you can look back and feel proud at what you have accomplished.

The Hilltop: On the other side of the swamp in the woods is a steep hill that seems to rise above the tree tops. Climbing the hill is no easy chore. It is covered in dead leaves that may cause you to lose your footing.

But when you have made it to the hilltop, you can look out at everything around you. You can see clearly where you have been, and you can see what is ahead of you. On the other side of this hilltop, the stream flows smoothly and the water is crystal clear. The plants in the valley are lush and beutiful. From this hilltop, you can clearly see the beauty of the sunset. Being up on this hill is truly breathtaking.

In all our lives, we will make it to the hilltop. We may have to struggle through swamps and climb steep inclines, but eventually we will make it to the hilltop. We can look and see why we had to go through the swamps, and we can appreciate it. We can see where we are going. We can see the beauty of life and how wonderful it is. The waters are flowing clearly ahead of us. All we have to be willing to do is to climb that mountain and struggle through the swamp, because once you make it to the hill top everything is forgotten.

Although I believe I have a long way to go to get through this swamp that I am in now, I know something beautiful lies ahead of me. Although there are more struggles ahead, I know they will be worth it, and I can't wait.

The woods of life are beautiful. They are constanly changing and growing. Like trees, dreams die but are quickly replaced by other trees. There are different paths and trails through life; which ones we take are completely up to us. Streams don't always flow straight. They curve and bend. They run slowly sometimes and faster other times. This represents our hopes and our faith. There are going to be hills and valleys and swamps throughout our lives. We just have to muster enough confidence to make it through.

Perhaps one of the most insightful things I have heard lately came from my three-year-old nephew, Kevin. I went back down in the woods with him on Easter Sunday. He wanted to climb on these rocks. It soon became a tough climb for his little body but he kept on going. When I asked him if he wanted me to carry him, all he said was, "No, I am like the little train." Then he continued climbing, saying, "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can..." Perhaps that is all we need to do to get through the tough parts of life: Keep reminding ourselves that we can do it. Life is beautiful.

by Thomas Keenan

I wrote this at the start of my senior year in college for the college newspaper, in October 1994. 

After the long dark night, a faint glimmer of light appears low on the black horizon.  A chorus of crickets is replaced by an orchestra of birds.  They proclaim the birth of a new day.  The blackness hanging in the air turns to a dark blue.  The once blackened horizon is covered by a garment of orange and red.  It is the royal gown of the daughter of night.

Finally, like it has done for billions of years before, the sun rises, spreading its mighty arms and embracing  the vast  lands of its domain with its magnificent lights.  Morning has broken, and life stirs within its loving embrace.

Through a second-story window, the sun has cast one of her morning rays gently across the face of a tiny red- haired baby boy.  The small child stirs and opens his sky-blue eyes.  Like an angel spreading its wings, the baby spreads the corners of his mouth revealing a tiny but beautiful toothless smile.  His eyes open wide with excitement as he talks quietly with the sun ray in a language that only the two of them can understand.  Two hundred miles away, the little angel's uncle thinks about him and smiles, knowing that he is going home soon to see him.

The sun spreads her rays through a classroom window.  A student stares down at her notebook, doodling as she waits for her professor to stop talking.  It is her last class on Friday, and she thinks about her plans for that weekend.  She is going on a road trip, visiting an old friend from high school at her college in Rhode Island.  It is going to be a long trip, but who cares... at least she will be away from college for a weekend.

In her doodling, a number appears followed by a date:  220 days, May 13, 1995.  She has to use her long dark hair to cover her face as her eyes light up and a huge smile takes control of her lips.  People would think she was crazy if they saw her smiling that way in her Spanish class.  Not much time left.  A guy next to her just happens to catch her smile.  He smiles also, thinking she was smiling at him...

In another part of campus, the sun casts its light across a white envelope with one of those clear plastic windows.  A young man peers into the envelope.  As he does so, he jumps for joy:  he will be able to buy plenty of beer tonight.  Just as he does so, a young lady stops to talk to him.  It's the girl he has been flirting with since he first met her in his Geography class.  She asks him if he wants to study with her for the test next week.  It's going to be a good day, he thinks.

With the sun burning on her back, a girl dressed in green sprints down the field carrying her field hockey stick.  Her entire concentration is on the small white ball that is rolling and bouncing along the grass towards a predestined rendezvous point ahead of her.  She starts her back swing and fires.  Another unidentifiable girl covered from head to toe in protective clothing dives to her right.  The small ball rolls just beyond the edge of her stick.  The girl in green shouts in joy as she is mobbed by her teammates.  Laughter surrounds them.

With the sun reflecting off his glasses, a man talks excitedly on a pay phone with his mother.  He's telling her about the job he will have when he graduates in two and a half months.  His four and a half years at college have paid off.  Barely able to speak in his own excitement, he tells her about the black 1995 Camaro he is going to buy in January.  He tells her to tell Dad that he is getting in his car and is headed home.  He will be there in four hours with a bottle of champagne.  He tells her to be dressed nicely because he is taking them out to dinner.  Tears are now in his eyes.  His mother, her voice trembling in pride, tells him that she loves him.  He returns the sentiment, hangs up the phone, and jumps into his old, rusty Chevette.  He pauses, takes a deep breath and gently pats the dashboard of his car.  1995 Black Camaro, he thinks with a smile bigger than the Grand Canyon.

As the sun sits low in the western sky, two old friends talk comfortably on a small white bench beside the creek.  After weeks of fighting, they have settled their major problems.  A difficult road is ahead, but the worst is behind.  A peaceful silence falls upon them as they stare deeply towards the full moon that has risen early on the eastern horizon.  He finally turns to her and tells her that even in friendship, he will always love her.  They embrace.

Across the creek from them, a young man zips past on a green and black bike.  His Notre Dame hat sits a little crooked on his head.  As he rides through the center of campus, he thinks about tomorrow's game, the laundry he has to do, and the fact that he has survived yet another stressful week.  The cool, crisp autumn air feels good after the long, hot summer. There is just something about it that makes him feel so alive and free.  As he reaches the peak of the hill going toward his apartment, his eyes are met with a fiery red, orange and purple sky.  He loses his breath. No matter how many he times he sees it, he is always impressed by an autumn sunset.  He pedals faster toward the sunset, the light reflecting off his face.  He smiles, and then thrusts his arms in the air, as if he were flying.  LIFE IS GREAT, he thinks.  "Thank You, God," he says.