But heroes are important.  As a child mine were Mickey Mantle, Hank Aaron, Thomas Edison, Paul Revere.  I’m older now and more selective about who I respect and admire (although these for are still tops in my book).  But I need heroes.  Don’t we all?  What lifts us beyond our condition, makes us think anything is possible, ennobles us, makes us want to fight on when it would be “only human” to quit?  I think there are great stories about great people.  Here’s one of mine I discovered relatively late in my life.

On Christmas night, 1776, George Washington crossed the ice-choked Delaware River with his men to attack the British on the Jersey shore.  They marched 9 miles that night.  Conditions were terrible.  A violent mix of snow, sleet, rain all aided the enemy.  It was a desperate gamble.  Enlistments were about to run out.  The Revolution was on the verge of collapse.

Did you know that Washington’s army – in the winter of 1776 – had dwindled from a strength of 30,000 troops down to 2,500 men?  That number represented 1 of every 1,000 colonists living in America at that time. 

Did you know that on that December night, once they had left their boats on the Jersey shore, the march in darkness to Trenton was done by 1/3 of the soldiers who weren’t even wearing boots?  They wrapped their feet in burlap bags. Their trail was marked in blood.

Their password for that raid on the British was “Victory or Death”.  They were down to the last throw of the dice.  They were attacking 800 Hessian soldiers – the crack troops of the British army -  professional and deadly.

This “rag-tag army” had no way of knowing what lay in store for them at the end of the Trenton road.  They couldn’t be sure their enemy wasn’t sleeping off the effects of the celebration from the night before.  This garrison brandished confidence and with good reason.  They had rolled over Washington’s army in Rhode Island, driven them out of New Jersey and had forced Washington’s army out of New York.  The colonists were almost out of money. The country was dispirited and morale was low. Washington’s army was isolated both in terms of geography and popular support.

By the end of that night the course of the war would have turned.  We are a Republic because of these ordinary men marching along that road in the early morning darkness.  They captured  and took prisoner the British strike force.  The country rallied.  First a trickle.  Then within 2 weeks 15,000 volunteers.  Money from France, Holland, Spain began to pour in as others became convinced America had a chance.

Washington’s story becomes even more remarkable.

In May of 1782 a letter was delivered to Washington urging that he declare himself king.  “In a series of letters lasting almost a year, powerful groups gathered in frustration and anger against the inept and impoverished Continental Congress” (quote and those following from the book Character Counts by O. Guinness) 

The army was broke and there was the real possibility (warned Alexander Hamilton) that they would take control of the government “at bayonet point to satisfy its claims”. 

The goblins of anarchy and chaos were loose in the land.  A fragile government was on the brink and its formation was so unique to history that Washington had no star to guide his deliberation.  He urged the country to be patient but his critics were unmoved.  It seemed like the currents of history were sweeping America towards despotism.

And then a miracle happened.  I’ll let the author tell this story …

Appearing before Congress “uncertain what to do next, Washington took a letter from his pocket, but something seemed strangely amiss.  Surprisingly, the Commander seemed confused.  He just stared helplessly at the paper; the men leaned forward anxiously.

Slowly Washington pulled from his pocket a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, something only a few of his closest aides had seen before.  Then quietly he spoke: ‘Gentlemen, you will permit me to put on my spectacles, for I have not only grown gray but almost blind in service of my country.’

This simple statement of weakness achieved what none of his reasoned arguments could do.  The men wept.  The United States was spared a military tyranny”.

The officers who had marched with him, most never forgave Washington for thwarting their plans to install a monarchy.  Only 20 were there with him when New York was ceremoniously brought into the Confederation.  A farewell dinner in his honor was cancelled. 

Finally, at the Fraunces Tavern Washington gathered what was a smattering of his troops and “their exhausted commander was overcome with emotion.  Saying nothing beyond a short, halting toast with tears streaming down his face, he embraced each man and then quietly made his exit for the long trip back to Mount Vernon”.

Such is leadership – the marks of an heroic man.  We see it in the loneliness of command crossing the Delaware knowing the words “Victory or Death” had been aptly chosen.  We see it in a man who could have seized power but who loved the country more.

Does your life have such stories that you can draw inspiration from?  When you are alone with decision, are there voices from the past that can guide you, point the way, offer you good counsel?

As I get older, I lean on these stories more.

Subsequently discovered historical data derived from the book To Try Men’s Souls by N. Gingrich and Wm. Forstchen.

The content above represents the views of this author.  It is for information purposes only.  If you are seeking help, consult with a professional who can tailor treatment to your specific need.  Thanks for reading.  

 Paths lined their way on up the hill through the underbrush.  Most blueberry bushes had been picked over.  But my wife and I noticed that at this time of year – when the August sun is hot and days are long – that the best berries seemed to grow in the shade – behind some rock or in the crook of another bush.

My wife informed me that several weeks earlier, my four-year old grandson had been here and with each new discovery he would shout out “Hey! I found the motherlode!”  Blueberry picking is not for the faint-of-heart or for the timid.

Several years earlier there had been a fire that had roared through this place – on both sides of the road.  It took almost everything.  It seared the rocks.  Blackened spruce stripped of their branches were the only thing left that really mattered.

Many in town had mourned this loss.  Down the Gunflint Trail many of the white pine had come down in the same fire.  These giants – remnants of the logging days – had always welcomed visitors to this wonderful land of adventure.  They were there when my parents had homeymooned here some 65 years ago.   

Now it was broken ground.  But seedlings were beginning to show promise. The land was just beginning to heal.  It had become a place of surprises. 

My wife said that the best picking was near the exposed rock that still bore the scars of what had happened.  And she was right. 

Blueberry picking leaves you plenty of time to think and this is what came to mind.  An elderly woman I have known used to say often “Theirs nothing so bad there’s not some good in it”.

That’s what the blueberry harvest was telling me.  We write things off and nature is already writing a new story.  We grieve but already the land is in repair.  We express unhappiness that things are not the same.  Nature wants to applaud.  “Theirs nothing so bad there’s not some good in it.”

This is not a Jack Pine forest like the ones to the south but they deliver the same message.  Fire scorches everything.  But did you know that at a certain temperature the seed pods break open?  Fierce heat is required for them to burst open and begin the cycle of new growth.

We conserve, withhold, guard, protect, sometimes over-manage places that hold great beauty.  We take a dark view of change.  We mourn that things will not be the same.

But sometimes the Old Growth hinders development of what is new.  Berries do not grow where sun cannot penetrate.  Animals will not return to places that have no forage.

Life can be scared like this forest.  We can view our pain and the often terrible, difficult things that happen to us and see only a moonscape – harsh, barren, dismally grey.  Words like “a write-off” and “desolate” and “a wasteland” come to mind.  But blueberries grow even as we recoup from the damage.  No one would expect this. We don’t.   But sometimes out of broken ground, life / God /  the universe surprises us.  It is a moment of grace.

What else can we learn?  “There’s nothing so bad there’s not some good in it”.  Sometimes the best things grow in the shade.  The best picking is often near the exposed rock that bears the scars of the firestorm. That life is like a treasure hunt where on a quite ordinary day we can still happen upon something that truly surprises us, where we can still say “Hey, I found the motherlode!”

And that sometimes something as terrible as fire can sweep across the land and burst open the seed of something entirely new.

The content above represents the views of this author.  It is for information purposes only.  If you are seeking help, consult with a professional who can tailor treatment to your specific need.  Thanks for reading.