A special flag and the beauty of fall

A piece of my American flag hangs high in my Hawthorne tree. Over time it has pretty well shredded the ends of the flag from the nearby pole, but the emblem of our freedom still flies in the face of the wind as the “Star-Spangled Banner” words and tune come to mind.

I have tried to lower the tall flagpole that was my husband’s pride in ordering, installing under the night-light and enjoying the continuous flying of our colors, but I have been unable to bring it down in order to remove the flag.

One day a kind soul will bring down the flagpole for me to replace my tears of remembrance, but I can’t help but hope that the promise of freedom and democracy don’t vanish with it.

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HONORING PATRIOT VETERANS

Our Patriots were veterans.

Did the people honor them?

Did they march in victory,

An army of proud men?

And were the flags unfurled

Above the uniforms of men?

And did they hurry home

To greet their own loved kin?

The red coats with their rifles poised

Found themselves outmatched by farmland boys

And women, too, who bound the wounds,

Tended home and field in lonely vigil rolls.

Tattered coats and militia blues

Were all they had to wear,

But love of freedom drove them on

To win the peace, I swear.

All down the years the cry’s the same.

To tend our freedom’s fires.

Marching arm in arm across the years,

Our Patriot veteran sires.

In keeping strong the stars and stripes

That started way back when,

I bow my head and say again

Thank those who serve. Amen.

— DAR Member 835667

c. November 2007

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My breath caught somewhere just below my throat as I experienced the beauty of the trees changing colors, first the length of Fourth Street and then all around town and to the hills. No matter that I have the same sense of awe every fall, for the full force of it is never diminished.

Then the leaves were coming down on us all, the rich, the poor, the just and the unjust. No matter what we have or who we are nature showers her bounty of leaves in order to renew themselves again next spring. Maybe that is why I prefer living in an area that progresses through the changing seasons like clockwork.

I saw a car parked with its top and rear window covered in leaves as though under a blanket for warmth against winter storms. On another street a thick mat of golden maple leaves, stretching the length of the block, supported another car as though it were at sea. The scene was picture perfect.

Rakes and even shovels were in action everywhere against the onslaught. Not to worry if my neighbor’s trees shared their bounty on my treeless yard. Maybe they would make good mulch against another blanket — this one made of snow. It came to mind the other day, when the grasses had turned a golden color, that soon they would become bleached, lying flat on the ground under the influence of a heavy frost, and autumn would lose its beauty as the winter white would come to cover its failings. Then spring would arrive to give us hope again that everything would renew itself into summer greens.

There is beauty all over the world, but somehow it always seems most special here, and I can’t imagine living anywhere other than cradled among the Northeastern Oregon mountains as part of a free nation. I pray it stays that way. How fortunate I am to have been born and reared right here and to be able to spend my winter days anticipating that spring will greet me, though, eventually, in a different form as it did for George.

In the meantime, I give thanks for the beauty of the fall and that I am here to see it. I just bask in the warmth of the autumn sun coming in my window and am at peace.

Veteran newspaperwoman Dorothy Swart Fleshman is a La Grande native. Her column runs every other Friday. Reach her by e-mail at This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it