Jack The Viking

My family has interesting roots. Most of my ancestors came from Wales. That's the country and not the swimming mammal that shoots water in the air. The line has claim to poetry and music, but their warriors were fierce and formidable.

I have English roots as well. The Moon family lived close to London. My Great Great Grandpa Moon, buried on the Utah/Idaho border near I-15, lived in England in the nineteenth century. He and his family converted to the newly organized Christian Church and followed many other converts to America.

Great Great Grandpa Moon was aboard the Britannia. While still in dock, Charles Dickens is said to have commented about those onboard, when he said something about the quality of those sailing away to join Joseph Smith and other members in Nauvoo.

The Wards were there too, as much as I can determine. The Ward line were once Vikings. When you think of the term, you think of bearded guys pillaging and burning settlements just for fun, but they actually were just looking for additional farming land--a yearning that sent them as far as the New World with Leif The Lucky and as eastward into Russia.

Eventually, my Viking ancestors became Normans on the northern coast of France. In 1066 the invasion at Hastings as a pretty big deal. It changed Britain with a new surge of warriors.

The funny thing about the roots to farming explains some of the strange notions we learned as paradigms in our family. For example, my dad always maintained fall planting had to coincide with the growth of the lunar cycle. In my father's words, he said that we planted when the "moon was growing."

Planting happened as soon as possible in August, but we waited for that, and it always resulted in good crops. Some might believe it to be silly, but I've also known those who remain true to The Farmer's Almanac in terms of agricultural advice as well. There were also things my dad knew about the weather. He had a sense about things like that. What I learned is what he taught me.

I was in Reno working with a colleague to develop a Holocaust Seminar for teachers. The first day there, we arrive on site.

"It will rain tomorrow," I said. The cooperating teacher, who became a very good friend, reminded me that the weather was to be clear for the next four or five days.

When we started for the meetings the next morning, clouds hovered low in the sky and rain fell. He laughed when I told him about my father's teaching me about weather prediction on our farm. Reno's climate and everything else is so much like our ranch, and as far as the crow flies, it isn't really that far away--at least for my definition of far.

"Mare's tales tell of storm," my dad always taught me. Those clouds are the whispy brushstroke-type of clouds that are so high in the air, but there is a certain feel in the air as well.

The Wards actually received a name to replace the French one they brought with them to England, which was de Varde. The name Ward was one given to my family. It reflected their purpose, which was to be a protector.

The Wards, at least those in my family line, had tempers that rose quickly, yet I never knew any of them to be abusive. It was all about protecting loved ones, not allowing anyone to take advantage of you or your family.

My Welsh roots are partially connected to that same quick temper. Even Shakespeare talked about the tempestuous nature of Welshmen.

However, my paternal grandmother was 100% Welsh, and her mother spoke the language. My Grandma Liza never really exhibited that kind of quick temper. She stood up for herself, and she was outspoken, but her nature was very logical, very to the point. I never saw her out of control.

She once told my family that the Wards were all crazy, and the only thing that brought sanity into the family line was the genetic good natured characteristics of the Moon Family.

My Great Grandpa Ward and his brother were business partners in a very large farming operation. While in their 70's, they started fist fighting during an argument in a corral.

The Ward line was like that.

So the ultimate question is nature or nurture. I hope that my grandson will not have those tendencies. It took cancer to take away the abrasive nature that affected my life occasionally in a negative way, and even now, those things sometimes recur, yet I must admit, it is nice to have "the gift" at certain times.

My dad once said this: "You know son. There comes a time, when the only thing left to do is to tell someone to kiss your ass."

I learned that statement as my dad intended it to be. It was a tradition. It was something you said to bait an adversary. It was like this. OK, if that's how you want it, go ahead and come out and play.

Old habits die hard. I hope my grandson grows up to be a better man than I, yet I don't want him to take wooden nickels either.