Poking Through The Past

Poking Through The Past

A Memoire 

By:

D.A. Wittler 

Chapter 1:

A Simpler Time

(From Camelot To The Moon)

I was born in 1962. A time barely considered part of the boomer generation and yet not quite full fledged generation X. I vaguely remember that little house on Otto street in Ottoville, Ohio where I was the newest little brother to a big sister Cindy, and two older brothers Steve and Keith. Images of sunlight through living room curtains, Lincoln logs on a carpeted floor, and fire crackers on the Fourth of July still echo in my mind. They seem like dreams today, but I know that shy little boy who loved to wear hats, and dress up in costume was destined to see man on the moon. 

         

The 1960's was a simpler time with Andy Griffith and I Love Lucy on a black and white television screen, and yet the Bay of Pigs, and Gulf of Tonkin ushered in a fire storm begun with a shot heard on a sunny November day in Dallas, Texas. And so the days of innocent prosperity born of blood spilled by a Greatest Generation gave way to war once again. Free love tainted by a silent misery delivered a new addiction defined by Timothy Leary as the “Tune in, turn on, and drop out” generation. It gave the reality of man on the moon a whole new meaning; getting high was no longer a trip taken by man and machine. 

As our growing family was about to bear the pangs of another little sister, we moved out of that little house on Otto street to the Bigelow house at 103 East Sixth. It was built on a dead end alley that served as a neighbor's driveway ending on a little hill along the once Miami and Erie canal. A one time waterway for German immigrants from cities like Cincinnati, and ports of call like New Orleans. Commerce flowed as well along the way into what was known to the natives as The Great Black Swamp. The only remaining evidence of the Shawnee and  Delaware are the hand hewn arrow heads, grinding stones and bones of those who inherited it from generations long passed into legend spoken around a campfire. Its ashes ground into a muddy clay used to fire bricks to build sanctuaries of Gothic design for Catholic priests to gather in the faithful. 

Looking Back

Looking  Back

Looking back

As the crow flies

And the ravens form

I can feel the coming storm

Unlike an October rain

When youth was in full bloom

And hunger kept me warm

It is just a memory 

An olive drab uniform

Drenched in Missouri sweat

And iron red earth 

Where a soldier was born

So many years gone

But lessons always learned

And my buddy's last words

See you soon

Echo in my brain

A ringing reminder

Of age marching on 

With dates in bronze

On A granite stone

Waiting there 

Marking time

Like a short timers tune

Free as a bird

Homeward bound.

D.A. Wittler 7/26/25

Is Anybody Out There?

When I started this blog way back when, I was another man living another life. I was a husband, and father. 

The End

Today I am an old man living another life. I had lost it all, and gained back more than I ever bargained for. I hope someone finds this page some day, and ... 

Cold Dead Hands

Cold Dead Hands

When I was just a boy

Daddy took me aside

Taught me a lesson

With a belt to my hide

Son, he said

Don't you run away

From life's mystery

And the evil lurking there

Pick up your gun

Take your place in the sun

Fight for freedom

Your home and lands

Don't let em steal it

 Be a man

Tell them they can take it

From your cold dead hands.

When the moon rises

Put aside the bad times 

Dream of better days

Leave the nightmares behind

Bury those old memories 

In an unmarked grave

Cause you got to stand

For something 

Or fall in the sand 

Like a poor example 

Of a broken man.

When the day came

Left my Daddies side

To find my pride

Gave my oath

To Uncle Sam

Rifle in my hand

Home of the free

Because of the brave

Who put it on the line

You got to get yourself ready 

For the fight of your life

Through storm and strive 

Fight for your freedom

Or die in the fire

Son to father

Here I am

My own man.

When the moon rises

Put aside the bad times 

Dream of better days

Leave the nightmares behind

Bury those old memories 

In an unmarked grave

Cause you got to stand

For something 

Or fall in the sand 

Like a poor example 

Of a broken man.

You can steal my lands

Gamble your money

Bring it on

You high and mighty

Take it all away

From my cold dead hands.

D.A. Wittler 7/8/25

Eden Once Again

A Few Thoughts: On A Perfect Morning in June. 🌄 (As always, a work in progress)

To: Mom & Dad  

RIP

Eden Once Again

Lately I've been torn

Like a ripened apple

From the tree I was born

How do I return

Like that new found bloom

Amidst the dew of Spring

The Storm and gloom?

How do I resolve this matter of fact

In one swift motion, 

a single act

Like a seed once planted

In a garden

In my heart, 

and soul?

To be worthy of the cause

I sit and pause

Considering my roots

The origins of my being

In God's hands I'd been

But somewhere along the way

I could not stay.

And so I wondered aimless

You could say blameless

Of my past indiscretion

As youth had claimed my passion 

Today I return on a mission

To find God's Eden once again.

D.A. Wittler 6/12/25

Remembering Annabelle

A few thoughts: Sunday morning December 15, 2024. 

I heard this song the other day while watching the series Hell On Wheels. It reminded me of the connection I feel for the past, and the depths of my family roots. Hell On Wheels tells the story of the construction of the Transcontinental Railroad following the Great Civil War. Our nation's growing pains called us West at the cost of many lives, and ways of life. 

Not many years prior my ancestors labored on the Miami and Erie Canal. Before the Iron Horse there were wooden canal boats pulled by flesh and blood horses. They traveled by water course not by rail. 60 to 70 feet wide, and six feet deep, many immigrants traversed, and like that mighty railroad to come, I can only imagine the sweat, blood and tears it took to clear a wilderness for the cause of progress and Manifest Destiny.

 Today,  some may call it a myth of the Western world, but I see a past we must not forget or fail to yield to the causes that blur our present ills. 

Annabel, a great Aunt on my Mother's side I hardly knew. I remember her face like my Grandma Beatrice. From out of the depths of the past they renew my quest to know where I come from, and perhaps where I am going to. Inevitably, to that sky above for sure, but what legacy will I pass on to those following in the wagon wheel trail that was my life?

God Bless!

Our Troubled Times, and the Call of Faith.

For all of you out there who take the time to find meaning in our troubled  times, I say, amen to you! Do not lose heart, and continue  your quest for peace, purpose, and something to believe in once again. 

And so...read on.

Thank you for stopping in to my den. 

D.A. Wittler

9/30/24

We can all pray to God to give us what we need to defend what was given through hardship, war and pain. But ultimately, it will be up to us to take our faith into the fire that is fast approaching. We must take up the banner of freedom, stand at post and cast out the evil upon our land, even unto death. For there is no bastion of freedom left to defend but that which the Lord our God has bestowed on us. There has never been nor ever will be anything  like the heart and soul of a true American.

And so I tell you, let not your hearts be troubled. Listen to what is being said to confound reason and common sense. Sift through the sands of deceit that some build falsely to win your devotion. Search your heart, mind, and soul to discover what is right and just. For there will be a time for reckoning when we as Americans will have the tools to repair what others have broken. So, give God your glory. Praise him for his blessings. Seek out his path in a new dawn of hope after the dark night of despair and longing. Know then that We shall overcome!

Amen