I’ve known Bobby for a long time. If you were to meet him for the first time, you’d probably think of him more as a Bob or a Robert than a Bobby, on account of the gray that’s now in his beard and the deceptive maturity in his voice. For most of us that have known him for decades, however, he’ll never be able to outgrow the more youthful and mischievous moniker that’s managed to stick with him since his childhood. If there was some innocent trouble to be had, there was a pretty good chance that he was on the fringes, if not smack dab in the middle of it. Bob or Robert will never catch up with Bobby.
A few years ago, Bobby was able to move from the farmground down in the valley when he semi-retired and built his dream house up near the foothills at the base of the mountains. Although I usually cringe at any sort of residential encroachment up here in ranch country, I’ve tolerated if not welcomed Bobby’s arrival. His house sits to the east of the rangeground and fields where my cows spend the winter months. If the cows happen to find an open gate or I’m stuck in a snowbank with the feed truck, Bobby is one who will take notice and lend a helping hand without judgment. His goodwill has come in handy for me on several occasions.
It’s been a rough last couple of years for Bobby. His ailments, injuries and illnesses have been many and varied – so much so that I have not been able to keep up with the tab he’s running up to keep the Grim Reaper at bay. His was one of the first cases of serious COVID-19 that I remember. Not long after his run-in with that popular disease, he somehow contracted a staph infection that very nearly outsmarted the medical community, requiring several surgeries and seriously cutting into his hunting season. I think he’s had heart and lung issues, just for good measure, too. Kristy, his long-suffering wife, is not a registered nurse, but she’s done a lot of nursing these past few years.
Despite his struggles, Bobby, like many of my good neighbors, still seems to care about the well-being of those around him more than he worries about himself. A few weeks ago, for no apparent reason other than that the grass was growing, he pulled up to my aging parents’ driveway with his nice, big riding mower in tow. He backed up, unloaded the mower and proceeded to mow the the entire front and back lawns. The mowing itself went well, but as he backed up his trailer to unload, the unlatched trailer popped off of the ball of the hitch, smashing a nice crease into the tailgate of his new pickup.
A couple of weeks later as a lightning-caused fire raged through the timber and across my Forest Service grazing allotment, Bobby was right in the thick of things. His initial involvement was primarily because his house at the base of the mountain was the only structure that might have been mildly threatened by the fire, but beyond that he figured he was in a position to help. For the better part of three weeks, his home served as a quasi-mini base camp for hotshot crews and other firefighters involved in the battle against the blaze.
It’s not uncommon in wildfire situations for crews to do more waiting than actual firefighting. So as I would expect, Bobby hosted in style. One afternoon, in the absence of Kristy, and as several of his guests mingled in his yard awaiting assignments, he fired up the stove in the spacious kitchen of his beloved palace home to fry up some lunch for the crew. I’m a little sketchy on the details, but somehow, as a result of Bobby’s home cooking, a grease fire started up in the kitchen. How ironic and serendipitous it was that the property was packed with folks who knew how to put out a fire. Nevertheless, the kitchen suffered some serious fire and smoke damage, which effects will undoubtedly linger for months. True to form, especially in Bobby’s case, no good deed would be left unpunished.
Bobby’s good heart, good intentions and recent travails remind me of the struggles of a nation, though not without her flaws, villains and hard times, is still guided by the flame of morality and decency. With divinely inspired documents like the U.S. Constitution and the Declaration of Independence to guide us, many of those among us can’t really be faulted when they openly wonder how so much could be so wrong so often.
Although I too am often filled with doubt and discouragement about the state and the progress of our nation, I am simultaneously filled with the hope and vision of the goodness that, in spite of their own faults and doubts, led and inspired the founders of our nation. The hope of the overarching message of the Declaration of Independence should forever remain our compass and our guiding light. I believe that the true power of the declaration, like the power of the people of the nation it represents, is not in its perfection but in its claim that equality is self-evident, even if society refuses to recognize it. That’s why we need to keep pushing forward and keep doing good, in spite of the hard times and the fires all around us.
