Exhume the Position
Remove not the ancient landmark,
which thy fathers have set.
-- Proverbs 22:28
They're talking
about making a great, big, honkin' lake over my dad's hometown, submerging the
little house in "Mortgage Hollow" where Dad grew up, and the historic Carnegie
library, and the sunny little cemetery where our ancestors are buried. It made
me stop and think about how important it is to me to still be able to go and
see cemetery stones and old houses where generations of my family who went
before used to live. Yes, that's nice and it helps me remember my ancestors.
But there are lots of other ways to remember them, too. And I'd hate to have my
vanity stand in the way of progress and helping other people.
It'd be a huge
boost to economic development and recreation in southeastern Nebraska. They'd
spend $2 billion to build a dam and an 80-square mile lake where now there are
only quiet farms and fields, and the little town of Ashland.
Of course, "Mortgage
Hollow" is no longer there. The Wiggenhorn mansion is gone. The curious little
shack where "the king of the hobos" lived on the edge of town has disappeared.
Linoma Beach, the
riverside waterpark with the kitschy white lighthouse where Dad was a lifeguard
eons ago, was almost deserted last time we went. I think the bank where Grandpa
worked is a coffee shop now, and the car-repair shop is a little gas station.
The high school's consolidated;
gone is the classroom of the beloved teacher, Miss Duty Von Mansfelde. The meat
market's defunct. Most of the places where Dad hung out, and most of the people
he hung out with, are no more.
So I shouldn't be
sad and worried about this lake. But I am. Because . . .
. . . PEOPLE are
going to be BOATING AND WATER-SKIING right over Grandma and Grandpa's GRAVES!!!!
AAAIIIEEE!!!
We can't have
that! How disrespectful! They'll be doing human pyramids, and mooning, and
drinking beer in the boat, and dropping trash over the sides. I can see it now:
an old boot, some Bud cans and a Cheetos sack obscuring the "DARST" on our
beautiful granite headstone, 30 feet under!
AAAIIIEEE!!!
It reminds me of
that scary dream from "Deliverance," where the dead hand pops up out of the
lake!
AAAIIIEEE!!!
We can't HAVE
that!
So . . . if this
goes through . . . our family will have to go through the gruesome process of
exhuming the bodies, and moving them to higher ground.
We may have a couple
of decades to get it done, though. This thing would be more complicated than
all the storylines of all the dysfunctional families of all the soap operas
ever made.
The plan is to dam
the Platte River along Interstate 80 between Omaha and Lincoln, and make a lake
bigger than anything from Lake Michigan to the Great Salt Lake. There'd be 145
miles of shoreline for homes and businesses, public marinas, space for resorts,
a private airstrip and all kinds of upscale development.
All that makes the
old alley where Dad used to work on cars, the little grocery store his friend's
dad ran, and the somber funeral home where we said goodbye to Gram, seem kind
of irrelevant and inconsequential.
But are they?
Of course not.
And they're not
really going to be "lost" if this happens, anyway. Any place that's ever been a
part of your life transforms into spiritual capital, stashed away in your
heart. No one can ever take it away. Or flood it.
Now, my heart
already grieves for all the Ashland residents who would be forced out of homes,
farms and businesses that have been in their families for generations. Eminent
domain hurts, and hurts bad.
But you've got to
look at the big picture. Progress happens. And I'll be for it, if this project
survives all the arm-twisting of federal regulators, and legislative wrangling,
and financing headaches.
It would be
wonderful! It would be worth it.
The Bible says not
to remove the ancient landmarks - but that doesn't mean houses and towns. They
can go.
They aren't the
real landmarks. It's justice and respect, family and friendship, mercy and love
that we're supposed to hang onto, no matter what. All the good things about
"Ashcan," as Dad affectionately called it, are never-ending and eternal.
Dam it!
Or not!
I say, "water" we
waiting for? Exhumation won't be that bad: I can . . . dig it.
As long as Grandma
and Grandpa are buried where they can rest in peace, I'm not going to rock the
boat. †
-------------------------
Here's a neat history of Ashland with colorful content about
"bull whackers" and other pioneers. It lists my grandfather, G.R. Darst, as a
charter member of the Ashland Rotary Club in 1935:
http://www.rootsweb.com/~nesaunde/1983hist/saco83-p44.html
