The Cabin
Our family owns a cabin out in the woods. We share the woods with the mosquito's - who were delighted to see us recently and rather bent on only enjoying our invitation for a free meal. I once had a theory about mosquitoes - such being that if you didn't think they would bother you, well, then they wouldn't - purely a psychological ploy to advert the persistent buzzing and penetrating proboscis. Well, this past weekend that theory was eighty-sixed along with my personal ban on using bug dope (thank goodness for DEET)!
Now, it wasn't that the mosquitoes were at record levels necessitating extrodinary measures. No, the mosquito numbers were only a tad elevated for this time of year and simply maintaining their passionate pursuit of fresh blood. [Note example in picture above - Keweenaw's favorite mosquito retardant method.] However, without the aforementioned defense tactics of bug dope it is certain that each slap against neck, hand, face, or other body part would have easily limited two kills. Arms and legs, left untreated, could be considered the front lines providing five kills per slap - at least that was my record prior to forfeiting to the advantages of the bug dope.
Dad and I had traveled out to the cabin last night (returning this afternoon) with intentions of checking in on the place. According to the visitation log book there has been, on average, just over one visit per month since this year begun - a paltry showing but evidence that life is not a pursuit of singular enterprises. It should be noted that the previous visit to the cabin was cut short by the parents specifically due to the mosquito dilemma. [mosquitoes should have been included in the medieval torture chambers - hearing a persistent buzzing while attempting to fitfully sleep (and trying to kill the culprit) is just pure agony.]
The point here is not the mosquitoes (though by last count the tally was Me, ~ 50 mosquitoes, and mosquitoes, ~ 25 free meals - some weren't able to finish their meals however) but rather that I realize I have taken many things for granted in this country in which we reside (for the record Alaska is the 49th State of the US). It was while out at the cabin (albeit I was mainly focused on getting back to the house to work on travel arrangements and the like) that I thought we often take many things for granted here in the US, at least I know I do. These thoughts probably stem from reflections on the time in England and conversations with others there. I am not attempting to discredit England or any other country - just thankful for what we have here.
There are many things about our country that I believe we must be thankful for. Among these would be the numerous freedoms, democracy and equal representation, value of life and people, natural resources, abundance of land and open spaces, and recognition of God's providence in the founding and documentation of this country's beginnings. Certainly, there are varying opinions on all of these matters, and more, to which every person will likely have there own opinion. However, that is part of the beauty of what we have here in the US - think about it.
It's true that I don't agree with all actions and opinions of people, including some expressed by governmental figures; however, this again is an example of why this country is what it is. It's true that this country isn't perfect, or logical in all respects - no one is trying to paint that picture - the country is made of people who are not perfect - such is fairly evident reading the often unfairly negative media. An example may be the contentious issues wrapped up in Iraq. I support the actions in Iraq and Afghanistan and while I recognize that this war is contentious for many reasons I think it is worth pausing to consider what we are attempting to provide the people there - opportunities and freedoms to which we are afforded here - think about it.
So, I say all this as a petition for others to pause and think about what they are thankful for in this country. It is, after all, Independence Day.
Happy 4th of July!
God Bless.
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