Bird Droppings October 31, 2026
The Journey and looking at puzzle pieces
I have been reminiscing the past few days and a thought came up this morning I wanted to share. I had the opportunity to visit and observe a classroom many years ago. Visiting and seeing this particular class had been a dream of mine for some time. I have been a fan of Foxfire for many years since I first picked up the Foxfire 2 book in 1973. I used Foxfire ideas in my own teaching for many years, even before I knew it was an actual teaching method. Foxfire had been a class at Rabun County High School for over forty years, until a slight shift in the dynamic two summers ago. The current class has continued the tradition of producing the semiannual Foxfire magazine of articles and lore of Appalachia, but it is more of an internship than a specific class now. After my visit, I went to lunch with the liaison between Foxfire and Piedmont College, then went to the Foxfire museum to research my dissertation, which, of course, is in part about Foxfire.
Years ago, as I wrote about and did significant research on hand spinning and sheep production in Georgia, I had the opportunity to meet many of the folks the magazine has written about over the years. Needless to say, it was a busy day and a heartfelt and great time for me as I photographed and wandered about North Georgia. If all goes well, I’ll be heading back up during the holiday week of Thanksgiving; hopefully I will be able to get around. Later in the fall and winter, if all goes well, several more visits, and hopefully as next semester comes round, quite a few visits.
“And how high can you fly with broken wings? Life’s a journey not a destination, and I just can’t tell just what tomorrow brings. You have to learn to crawl before you learn to walk.” Steven Tyler, Aerosmith
For so many years, I have seen a line from this Aerosmith song, taken from the context of the song “Awesome”: “Life is a journey, not a destination.” I think back to when I first saw it posted on my computer after spending the night at the Athens Regional Hospital in Athens, Georgia, holding the hand of a sixteen-year-old young man who had been hit by a semi after doing a U-turn on a back road. My oldest son and his band often played and covered Aerosmith tunes at the time, and he knew the music and words well. But this line was from a song that, in and of itself, was significant for him and for me at that moment in our lives.
For me, it evolved as I saw how my own life was a journey each day and each moment. As we see each aspect of life as crucial to the next, and that one to the next, as pieces fell into place. In the days prior, I had been reading numerous books on the purpose of life and/or finding Meaning in life, trying to find a focus for myself; also, as I engaged teenagers, this is always a topic that comes up. When I first saw this quote, I was floundering in business and trying to get a foothold, and a yellow Post-it note on a computer after sitting with a dying teenager became a life-changing, life-refocusing moment. My blurry vision seemed to clear.
It was perhaps a moment to piece together the few days before. This young man was a clown, the life of any party, a real character, and all felt that way about him. I knew him from a youth group at a local church where my own children were involved, and I helped out periodically. The weekend before the accident, we had all been tubing in North Georgia. We stopped for dinner after being on the river all day. I think it was a Colonel Sanders fast food sort of place. As we were getting ready to leave, this young man walked up, extending his hand to me as he always does, and always at the last minute he pulls it away and makes a joke, just not fast enough: Mr. Bird or something along that line. But this time the hand doesn’t move, no laughing and no jokes; he commented to me, “Not this time.”
We shook hands for a longer moment than normal, and it did not sink in, as that was the last I saw him till I sat with him at the hospital. That was a number of years ago, and when I returned to the house to write, as I do every morning, a small yellow note attached to my computer read, in my son’s handwriting, “Life is a journey, not a destination.” Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought how profound it was for my son, barely older than the young man who was killed, to have found this concept, and I had been searching for nearly fifty years and still had not seen it. My own life started to focus and clear, and ideas and thoughts seemed to flow and make sense. Earlier in the week, I was answering an email from someone I had never met. During my visits, I talked with several teachers, professors, and students about how, in today’s electronic age, we can communicate with so many people with just a touch of a computer keyboard or a mouse click.
Often, that message includes photos, graphs, PowerPoints, and other attachments; we are into multimedia. But the message is still so clear; it is about the journey.
Another email answered was “If you believe in God, respond,” sort of; if you do not, you are going to hell. As I read the note, I thought how easy it is to respond one way or another, perhaps in a theological dissertation on the ramifications of believing or not, and/or of what it is you do or do not believe in. Then the journey hit me again: it is about the journey, not the destination. So, I offered the writer: it is so easy to say you believe in God or the Tooth Fairy; it is far more difficult to live the life you say you believe in, but this is what others see and feel. Others see your journey, not your destination. So I wrote on and wandered, as I did in several previous quotes I had used about the journey, parents, teachers, friends, and that it is the example we set, the picture we paint for others to see, that has significance and meaning.
What would a child learn from a teacher who yells at an extremely high decibel other than to cover their ears? What does a child learn from a parent who abuses them other than abuse? What does a friend learn from a friend who betrays them, other than distrust? Within the fragility of our experiences, we need examples of direction of positive journeying. I am still fascinated with a friend who had been doing work with eldering, helping young people along the pathway in life.
Each day I wonder why kids used to come by my room just to smile and say hi, and other times to ask for a word or two of advice. Thinking back nearly twenty years, as I addressed the Foxfire class, I asked how many of you want to be in this class right now. All raised their hands, and I said when students want to be in a class, they learn and cannot help it. Those who don’t want to be in that class make it hard for everyone else. Even staying in Loganville, I journeyed yesterday, and every moment was a new experience. Life is about the journey and may we all clear the pathway rather than drop boulders for others to trip on. Please keep all in harm’s way on your mind and in your heart. Namaste.
My friends, I do not say this lightly,
Mitakuye Oyasin
(We are all related)
bird
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