Dust in the wind…

I grew up loving the song by the band Kansas, titled Dust in the wind. I had no idea.  Really, no idea.

My Mom grew up in LaCrosse, Kansas and my father grew up in Dodge City, Garden City, and eventually Hays, Kansas.  Mom was born in 1925.  Dad in 1923.  They were children during the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl.  My moms Grandfather Krause came over during the great German/Russian migration of 1872 brought on by the Russian Czar Alexander II’s decision to revoke Catherine’s promise of free land for Germans working in Russia.  Twelve thousand of them came to America to settle in western Kansas in the year 1872 alone.  My great Grandfather was one of many who made the long journey here in hopes of free land and a farm of his own.  If you want to learn more about this generation check out my latest read titled appropriately, The Worst Hard Time, by Timothy Egan.  You will be blown away. Really, you will.  Moving on.

Farmers like Grandfather Krause had no idea.  Really, no idea.

The homestead act of 1862 that gave 160 acres of “farmland” to anyone that could stake their claim was disastrous.  Our government had no idea.  NO idea.

In our rush to dominate North America, we gave all kinda incentives to all kinda white men to exterminate all kinda Indians, to exterminate all kinda bison, to exterminate all the native grasslands, and turn what had always been known as “No Man’s Land,” into an unsustainable sea of wheat.  All done in the “Spirit of the 49ers,” in other words, in the rush for the easy buck.

Grandfather Krause was one of the resilient and fortunate ones, I guess.  He survived.  He created a small farm that survived.  His daughter, my Grandmother, survived even after her husband abandoned her in the rush to go to California for, you guessed it, the easy money.  My mom was five.

The depression was underway.  The Dust Bowl was in its infancy and early warning signs were everywhere and almost universally missed.

Sound familiar?

The dirty thirties would produce 9/11 horrors on a routine basis.  Nobody seemed to notice unless they were living in it.  The government only “got it” because Hugh Bennett wouldn’t let ’em miss it.  Hughie where are you now?  Moving on.

My Mom always told me that the good times we’ve been enjoying would not last.  She has told depression and dust bowl stories to any that would listen.  She has lived beneath her means as a matter of strict discipline.  She has been without income since my father retired from medicine 18 years ago.  She has lived alone in the same house we grew up in for the last 14 years, since my Dad died.  She recently went through a total knee replacement surgery at age 85 and is staring down the other one sometime next year.  She and her  generation have much to teach us, if we are ready, finally, to listen.

Here’s what I’m beginning to hear her tell me by her words and her actions.  She’s encouraging me to keep going.  More production action, son.  You can do it, but only with REAL, HARD, WORK. And, stop complaining about the economy.  Stop complaining about anything.  Stop being so soft.  You come from better stock than that.  Build your CORE stronger, surround it with deeper and deeper doses of real humility and get busy building your disciplines around the areas where you know you need more.  Stop focusing on other people and rosier circumstances.  Start changing the one thing you can deeply impact.  Start changing you.

I love learning from history.  I can’t believe that on April 14, 1935 there was a 200 mile wide swath of dust in the wind that carried parts of Kansas out 200 miles into the Atlantic.  I can’t believe the horror our parents generation endured.  I can’t believe how little they talked of it.  I can’t believe that I’ve lived so much of my life with no idea.  Really, no idea.

God help me apply what I’m finally, slowly, beginning to learn.  God help me…