In the summer of 2015 my sister Marion’s husband Ken Holladay passed away after a long struggle with a series of strokes.  Ken was particularly close to five year old Luke, one of his many grandchildren.  Ken had run a large business, then retired and spent a lot of time doing Christian work with the street people in Los Angles until his health would no longer allow it.  Ken loved his children and grandchildren who all called him “Pop.”  He particularly spent a lot of time with Luke and it hit Luke very hard when “Pop” did not recover from his stay in the hospital.  I wrote the little story below and included it in a letter for Luke to try to help his mom and dad explain to Luke that Pop’s loss was a part of God’s plan.

  

Luke, I thought I would write a little story for you.  I hope you like it because it was written just for you.  

    

  A Story for Luke

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die…(Ecclesiastes 3:1,2)

Once upon a time Aunt Ruth and I and some very close friends were camping in our campers high up in the Cascade Mountains on Raven’s Roost in early October.  This camping spot is only a couple of hundred yards down the road from where there used to be a forest service lookout where the forest rangers would keep watch for forest fires.  It is is one of my our favorite places to go to visit the natural beauty the Lord gave us to enjoy.  

  We had brought our horses along and were looking forward to taking a trail ride the next day. Many leaves were already turning fall colors.  The leaves of the tall aspen trees were covered with golden leaves, which seemed to glow as they were struck by the evening sunlight.  Bush maples leaves dotted the hillsides, while the sumac bushes whose leaves were a flaming red made it appear as if hundreds of campfires were covering the valley and hillside. The hundred foot tall tamarack trees, correctly called western larch, had needles that turn bright gold each fall.  I always thought these trees looked to us like golden spires pointing to heaven as if to service notice to all who would look that God in his heaven had created all this beauty for us to enjoy.  All this was ours to see as we marveled at the beauty of the hillsides below us and as far as we could see across the huge valley.  We set up camp on a little flat, cooked, and ate supper. 

As the sun began to go down, the natural light started to dim.  Ruth and I decided it would be fun walk a ways down an old abandoned road that led to the bottom of the valley a couple of miles below.  I suppose we had walked half a mile or so when we began to see elk on the hillsides below us as well as further down into the valley.  Soon a mature bull elk we could not see began to bugle down in the valley and another bull answered him.  A few seconds later yet another bull answered from somewhere else.  We saw a few spikes here and there on the hillside and a four point that was brave enough to loudly bugle.  We saw a lot of cows so we knew there was a huge herd bull somewhere below.  If you have never heard an elk bugle, particularly a big elk, it is loud, high, shrill, and a little spooky.  An elk’s bugle is one of those things that once heard is never forgotten.

As the evening breezes began getting stronger and cooler, Ruth decided she would go back to camp and get warm, but I wanted to see more.  I slowly walked further down the road being careful not to make any noise and keeping as low to the ground as I could.  I finally found a point where I could sit behind a huge boulder and watch the relatively open fields below for perhaps six hundred yards with my binoculars.  I thought for a while I might freeze to death because I was not really dressed for the high mountain cold breezes, but I could not pull myself away from what was going on down below me.

Elk seemed to be everywhere.  I could see a number of cow elk wandering around the grassy areas.  Along the edges I spotted several young bulls.  Some were just spikes, while others were every size from two to six points.  In the middle of all the action about four hundred yards away from where I was located, I finally spotted the huge seven by 8 point herd elk who had been bugling so loudly.  He had gathered his herd of cows and he was not about to give them up to any of the younger bulls.  He would bugle loudly in answer to bugles from other bulls in the area, and then use his magnificent horns to tear up the brush and golden leaved willows, which were all around where he was standing.  Then he would bugle some more and crash into the willows again with his antlers.  Smashed willow branches hung at odd angles from his antlers.  I would always be able to recognize him because his antlers had an unusual point like a double eye-guard on the right side.  Below him about seventy-five feet was an elk wallow, which was a muddy pool perhaps fifteen feet across where a young bull was busy rolling and bathing himself in the mud.  He would stand up and leave the pool, then plunge back in once more and become nearly submerged.  They do this partly to protect themselves from the insects that bother them in the summer and fall.  He was having a great time, but he made sure he stayed far enough from the herd bull so as not to incur any of his wrath.

I had no camera and no gun since it was not hunting season, but as long as I live, I will never forget that huge bull elk with his herd of cows in that meadow.  There was no doubt he was the main elk in that herd and he knew it and let every other member of the herd know it too.  I knew he would be the main  elk for a period of years, then one day it would be one of those young bulls that had circled, watched, and learned how to be a herd bull from the master that would challenge him and take his place as the new herd bull.  The young bull would do well because a master had taught him.  The old bull, would be gone, but, in a way, he would still live on through the accomplishments of his offspring  who would now use all the skills he had been taught by the old bull. 

I took one last look at the herd bull in all his glory.  I never saw him again in person, but I will always be able to picture him in my mind every time I call up the memory of the things I saw on the side of Raven’s Roost one late October evening when it was so cold I thought I might freeze in place. When I finally did make it back to the warmth of the camper, Ruth asked where I had been, but she already knew.  Yes, she knew how much I enjoyed observing the natural blessings the Lord has given us.  Like the giant herd bull, God has put everything in its place to come of age and be used when and where they belong.  

Hope you enjoyed this short story, Luke.  Perhaps you mother and dad can show you some pictures and talk about the story with you.  Sleep well and dream of elk.  We all look forward to seeing Pop again when we get to heaven.  I may never see that bull elk again, but I will see your Pop one day in heaven and so will you.

                                        We love you, Luke,

                                            Uncle John and Aunt Ruth

You have made known to me the paths of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence (Acts 2:28)