out2pasture

My earliest memories are as a young colt, playing in my mother's shadow. She taught me to listen closely to everything around me. She introduced me to an amazing world of sounds. It was a world that I came to know included stories and music and poetry and essays. I gamboled in this world of sound, and memorized many things long since forgotten, others that I remember to this day.1

When I got a bit older I was a wild mustang; not destructively wild, but defiantly wild. I believed that I could see the world more clearly than those around me. I questioned everything, doubted the wisdom of my elders, and challenged authority. I joined marches against the war in Viet Nam; I sat in front of bulldozers so they could not reshape the land for a nuclear power plant; I argued the virtues of Communism in a country where the very concept was anathema.2

In time I was tamed a bit, and became a somewhat gentled Arabian. I took young people on trips to places I had explored on my own and had come to love. I tried to interest them in things they thought dull or stupid. I wanted to show them fun in what they thought were only boring numbers. I wanted them to feel the excitement of finding logical truths where they thought there were only meaningless axioms and corollaries.3

I tried to be gentle, yet firm, but my Arabian blood ran too hot for that. I found myself excitable and impatient, even despondent that so few of my students could glimpse the beauty I saw. So I cast about, and discovered a race track, a place where I could run as fast as I pleased.4

This was a very special track, unlike any previously known, and it required special skills the world had never seen before. I became a Morgan Horse who pulled chariots constructed of silicon with gleaming multicolored windows. The chariots often crashed, and it took great skill to keep them on course. I found exhilaration in being around others who had that skill, and I took great pleasure in being among the fastest, the best liked, and the most innovative.5

Eventually age caught up with me. Racing with the chariots is a sport for young steeds, and many younger than I had caught the excitement and learned the skills. They were beginning to put my performances to shame. I withdrew from the solo displays and was given the task of leading teams of draft horses. We now pulled huge elaborate carriages, many times larger than the chariots of old. These carriages were built for reliability, not speed. They were advertised for their adaptability to many roles, rather than their agility. They were touted as easy to use, though that was often disputed. They bore trade names like Algol, Basic, and Cobol.6

As the years flowed by, my eyes and ears gradually became weaker. Eventually I could no longer peer into the future or hear the whispers of danger. I was moved from the front of the team into its body. I had become a draft horse myself, following directions from the leader up front, pressing forward in a carefully orchestrated line with my fellow team horses. And yet there was still satisfaction in the work. Ours was a team that worked well together, and celebrated our successes together.7

At last the time came when I could no longer carry my part of the load. Unlike the horses you may have heard of, we were expected to harness ourselves, and these were no ordinary harnesses. Our gear had hundreds, sometimes thousands, of straps and rings and buckles. Every task the team took on required a new set of gear with a new configuration. I was finding it hard to remember which straps went where, and how the many loose ends needed to be attached. When I explained my problem, our team leader whinnied and inclined her head sympathetically. She then proclaimed to all that I had provided many years of good service, and had earned my reward.8

It was time, she said, that I should be put out to pasture.9

It is good to have the time to reminisce, to reflect, to remember the things I have accomplished. Yet, the slower pace of old age should not be confused with the cessation of death. There is more that I intend to do in this life; much more that I want to share. But I will do it now from the peaceful pasture rather than the frenetic workplace.