The post for The Roadmap Company today is a bit out of sequence from the others. Josey wrote it on one of the last days of deer hunting season in South Georgia, but I changed the order of things a bit.

The story recalls a cold morning in the deep south when Josey met a homeless, nameless veteran at the end of his road. During his time as a CFI (Certified Fire Investigator) for a federal law enforcement agency, he met many at the end of their road. He took great care and pride in sending them back home with dignity and respect. To me this story is a reminder for each of us to do our part and help those we meet along the way, and to help us remember the ones we have met on our own journey. HLA

“It’s 3:30 am and my alarm woke me up.  I’m fairly sure I could have slept longer, but only 3 days left in our deer season, so I need to get up.  I’m confident I can sleep when I get older.  I get the puppy out of her crate. No need to wash my face she just did it for me.  I make breakfast and lunches for the boys.  I do my best to stretch on the floor, but the puppy seems to think this is her time to chew on me.

Six a.m., more lights come on and the parade has begun.  The next 30 minutes must look like some very disorganized fire drill.  The drill ends with me standing at our gate with the puppy on a leash.  No matter how many times I stand at that gate, I think of the two other dogs who also stood at that gate with me.  I have grown to love this puppy but how I miss the two before her.

Even with my old job I would get up with just a few minutes of sleep to be a helper in that parade.  One, my bride could use the help, and two, I hope that many years from now our boys will remember the man in the kitchen and the man at the gate with a dog in hand.

I load up the Jeep and drive the five minutes to the farm.  It’s been several days since I felt the damp swamp air, so my choice of where to hunt was no choice at all.   It’s odd to me how certain songs come on the radio and somehow connect with what’s on your mind.  A song called “A Rock That Says My Name” by a band called Steel Wool plays on the radio as I drive deeper into the farm.  The song is about a man’s tombstone.  Early this morning while loading the Jeep I thought of a certain man and the cold morning I spent with him. I never knew his name. 

A few years back I worked a fatal fire involving a homeless veteran on a very cold morning.  He was discovered in an abandoned outbuilding next to an abandoned house.  There was nothing left of the outbuilding, and very little of the homeless veteran.  I spent hours on my knees wearing rubber gloves doing my best to pick up his remains.  A bad case of frostbite to my fingers and toes as a teenager makes it hard to keep them warm. 

Within minutes, I could no longer feel my fingers, but I could still use them to pick up what was left of him.  The local police told us he was a veteran and homeless.  When I left the scene, we still did not know his name. 

A few days later a coworker called to check on me and his comment has forever been carved in my memory.  As we spoke of the homeless veteran he said, “I can promise you it’s not how he thought his life would turn out”.

This morning as I slipped on my gloves because my fingers were going numb, I thought of that homeless veteran. I think of him now as I have to take a break from typing to put my hands back in my pockets where a hand warmer waits.

My youngest texted the other day while hunting and asked how he could find the Aunt Kathy stand.  I said “get down from the Hog Stand and follow the creek until you come to a head of woods.  Once at the head of woods the creek splits, follow the left creek and you will almost run into the Aunt Kathy stand”.  About 30 minutes later he texted he found it.  I told him when I get down from my perch, I will follow the creek up to you.

Hours later I worked my way up the creek and waved to the youngest in the Aunt Kathy stand.  He walked over and said, “Why did you name it the Aunt Kathy stand Daddy?”   I said, “the day I carried all that stuff to build that stand in this swamp, Aunt Kathy called. I listened to her struggling voice but head strong soul and realized I was blessed to be physically able to build it.  It only made perfect sense to me to call it the Aunt Kathy stand.”  I explained all the ways to get out of here if he got turned around.  I said, “if you get lost on the farm, no matter where you are at, just follow the creeks.  The creeks will eventually lead to something bigger.  I told him, “when I was about your age, I followed the creek below Grandmas house. Fifteen miles later I ended up in the small town where I went to grade school.  I had enough sense to bring a backpack of Grandpa’s full of stuff for my creek-following adventure, but not enough sense to tell them about it. I still have that backpack today, and Grandma still remembers me calling her to come pick me up.” 

He asked why the creek split and why was it so twisted.   When man builds a road there is a purpose for what he does.  God and Mother Nature build creeks and sometimes it’s obvious why it’s twisted and splits, but unless you were here from the get-go and could watch it every day, only time and God know why.”

I take another break from typing to warm my hands and realize the temperature is dropping.  My toes are now cold so I break out some toe warmers and put them in my boots.

My oldest asked me the other day while we were processing deer and hog meat, “Dad did you think when you were my age that one day you would have all this?”   I said, “buddy when I was your age all I thought about was Jeeps, hunting, and girls.  I had no idea this would be my life and just about the time I think I got it mapped out it takes one hell of a turn.  Also, for the record, once I met your Momma, she was the only girl I thought about.”

I take a temporary break from typing because my fingers are turning white. I reflect on the homeless veteran and his life I know nothing about.  I called my business The Roadmap Company because people need a road map of what is coming.  We process and resolve conflict better when we know the hills and curves ahead.   As a child I played in creeks.  Across the farm many years ago I almost died in that creek.   As odd as it may sound to some folks, our boys were baptized in holy water from a creek on the farm.   Two mason jars of their baptism water sit on a shelf in our house for each boy to have.   I’ve been following creeks my whole life, and the more I follow them the more they remind me of life itself.  Creeks always lead to something bigger and their path sometimes seems to make no sense.

I take another break from trying to warm my hands and I’m right back in that fire scene with my homeless veteran.  I know he followed his own creek, and somewhere along the way he may have gotten lost on one of those curves. But on a cold winter morning when he was tired of following his creek, he met me.     We spent hours together in that imagined creek bed as I helped him find his way back home.  Though to some his final act was far from a heroic deed of a veteran, but it was to me.  I was blessed with the opportunity to help a man find his way back home.  An honor I cherish on the coldest days when my fingers go numb.  Though I still do not know his name he has made a difference in my life.   As I struggle with this retirement creek and wonder why things have twisted like they have, I realize it’s those we meet along this creek of life that give us purpose and direction when our creek becomes difficult to follow. ” William “Josey” Visnovske

For more of Josey’s work, look for the Crucial Moments Book Series on Amazon or HERE