Retirement
I have recently experienced one of the toughest retirement parties I’ve ever been to. There were people crying and laughing, serious moments and lighthearted moments, and then there was the internal dialogue you could see written on everyone’s face. It was easy to pick out the more sensitive folks in the bunch, as their eyes darted between the man of the hour and the floor. Red eyes were not uncommon, nor the shiny glint from excess moisture…and they exuded a look of stunned realization.
The man in question is Bob Rehnborg, someone I had the privilege of working with for the past five (of my six) years at the Coeur d’Alene River Ranger District. He started me out working with him as the person responsible for maintaining the tally sheet when cruising timber. That rapidly grew into increasing responsibility by me attending timber cruising school and then getting the opportunity to have a professional mentor at my disposal. I learned more useful, practical knowledge of forestry by being around Bob in the woods than I remember learning in college. His mind was never still and with his retirement date rapidly approaching, you could tell he was trying to cram as much teaching into each day as he could. It was mind-boggling to say the least, and at one point, I couldn’t even think straight because I was trying to process everything he was sharing with me and apply it at the same time.
Bob had an interesting teaching style that he utilized doing everything from managing the creation of maps, to driving to or from the worksite, to actually performing the job at hand. He was gentle and helpful when you were first learning…never raising his voice, never being derogatory, and always asking your opinion. Or, if he didn’t necessarily agree with what you were doing, he’d simply ask you WHY you did it that way. If you could convey your intentions so that it was logical and practical, he might let you go with it. “Forestry is as much an art as a science” is so very, very true and Bob was excellent at fostering that idea. However, if he felt like he’d coached you enough and you continued to get it wrong, he wasn’t bashful pointing out to you that you need to get it, and get it soon. Stern is the word that best describes it, and the interesting thing was that no one wanted to let him down, so when he became stern…people listened. I’m still not sure how he was able to mold everyone’s attitude like that, but it was a lot like the command presence many of our law enforcement and soldiers possess.
He led by example, and never wilted in the face of hot temperatures, thick brush, steep hillsides, or bees. It seemed to simply not bother him. There was work to be done, we were there, let’s do the work…that’s all there was to it. Bob was definitely not a fair weather forester as I’ve worked with him from 100 degree temperatures to sleet-snow-rain-fog, and sometimes even pushing the envelope of daylight. And again, nobody ever wanted to let Bob down, so there we all were, learning how to just get it done. Luckily I managed to not indulge in a pastime of his, working for free….on nights and weekends. But it almost made a guy feel guilty, knowing Bob was still at it, while all I wanted to do was go home and rest…and he’s almost twice my age!
In our last couple of years working together, he and I developed a certain knowledge of each other that only comes from spending a lot of time together. It started light enough, both of us figuring out the boundaries (or lack thereof) of one another. We found that we were cut from similar molds and had similar ideas about a variety of subjects. But we also had enough difference so that we could share experiences and have some pretty darn good conversations. From there, our morning drives to the woods could be about anything from work, to life and death, to marriage, and other pretty existential subjects. For example, we had a discussion about if a head could live after being decapitated…all on our way to check out a potential harvest unit. And Bob even picked up on MY sensitive side, and actually told me he wasn’t going to share some experiences he had, just so I wouldn’t dwell on it and stress out.
So it disturbed me that I was feeling sad at his retirement party. Wasn’t I supposed to be happy for the guy? Why was I being so selfish all of a sudden? Shoot, I had a mind full of happy things to talk to him about, but when I finally got to where I could shake his hand and basically say goodbye, all I could manage was, “This sucks. Stay in touch.” I had to quickly turn my back on this man who led a full career in the Forest Service so I wouldn’t break into tears. So, per my routine, I went on a drive to try and figure out what was going on in my head. I thought about it and alternated between being sad and being happy for about 30 minutes when it finally occurred to me!
Who in your life was a calm and understanding teacher who gave you knowledge that you still use to this day? Who had small habits that now you find yourself doing? Who took you out and showed you their world, let you into their mind, and tried to instill a little education on you? Who was happy, but stern, who you didn’t ever want to let down? Who led by example and demonstrated things that made you want to be just like them…but in your own way? Then, who was there to see you off…after doing their part in training you, as you embarked on the next aspect of your life without their constant guidance? If you aren’t thinking of your Mom or Dad, or a very close mentor…I’m not sure if any of this makes sense. But it became crystal clear to me. Over the course of five years, Bob had become my mentor and my friend. It was hard to see him leave because I think I was scared, much like shaking my Dad’s hand and hugging my Mom when my folks dropped me off at college. After some more thinking, I realized I started thinking about this at the retirement party. I desperately wanted to stand up and thank all the people that trained Bob to be who he was, because he passed the torch to many of us as well. Unfortunately I couldn’t, as I was having trouble composing myself, but I’m better at writing my thoughts anyways.
Overall, it’s life without them. It’s like starting a new chapter in your life using all the wisdom they tried to pound into your head, and passing that on to others. So of course it’s hard, of course it’s emotional, and of course the emotions vary from ecstatic to sorrowful. It’s exciting to be on your own and plan your new future, but letting go is always a tough thing to do. Much like Bob, I need things to make sense in my head…good or bad. I just need the comfort it provides. Once I had that thought in my head, I became much more comfortable and calmed down quite a bit. This is simply the next step in my journey, I’ve done it before, and I can do it again.
And to this day, I still don’t want to let any of them down, and I can easily promise that I won’t.
With that, farewell Bob, enjoy your retirement. See what else life has to offer and be sure to drop us a line once in awhile to fill us in. We all love you and wish you the very best.
The man in question is Bob Rehnborg, someone I had the privilege of working with for the past five (of my six) years at the Coeur d’Alene River Ranger District. He started me out working with him as the person responsible for maintaining the tally sheet when cruising timber. That rapidly grew into increasing responsibility by me attending timber cruising school and then getting the opportunity to have a professional mentor at my disposal. I learned more useful, practical knowledge of forestry by being around Bob in the woods than I remember learning in college. His mind was never still and with his retirement date rapidly approaching, you could tell he was trying to cram as much teaching into each day as he could. It was mind-boggling to say the least, and at one point, I couldn’t even think straight because I was trying to process everything he was sharing with me and apply it at the same time.
Bob had an interesting teaching style that he utilized doing everything from managing the creation of maps, to driving to or from the worksite, to actually performing the job at hand. He was gentle and helpful when you were first learning…never raising his voice, never being derogatory, and always asking your opinion. Or, if he didn’t necessarily agree with what you were doing, he’d simply ask you WHY you did it that way. If you could convey your intentions so that it was logical and practical, he might let you go with it. “Forestry is as much an art as a science” is so very, very true and Bob was excellent at fostering that idea. However, if he felt like he’d coached you enough and you continued to get it wrong, he wasn’t bashful pointing out to you that you need to get it, and get it soon. Stern is the word that best describes it, and the interesting thing was that no one wanted to let him down, so when he became stern…people listened. I’m still not sure how he was able to mold everyone’s attitude like that, but it was a lot like the command presence many of our law enforcement and soldiers possess.
He led by example, and never wilted in the face of hot temperatures, thick brush, steep hillsides, or bees. It seemed to simply not bother him. There was work to be done, we were there, let’s do the work…that’s all there was to it. Bob was definitely not a fair weather forester as I’ve worked with him from 100 degree temperatures to sleet-snow-rain-fog, and sometimes even pushing the envelope of daylight. And again, nobody ever wanted to let Bob down, so there we all were, learning how to just get it done. Luckily I managed to not indulge in a pastime of his, working for free….on nights and weekends. But it almost made a guy feel guilty, knowing Bob was still at it, while all I wanted to do was go home and rest…and he’s almost twice my age!
In our last couple of years working together, he and I developed a certain knowledge of each other that only comes from spending a lot of time together. It started light enough, both of us figuring out the boundaries (or lack thereof) of one another. We found that we were cut from similar molds and had similar ideas about a variety of subjects. But we also had enough difference so that we could share experiences and have some pretty darn good conversations. From there, our morning drives to the woods could be about anything from work, to life and death, to marriage, and other pretty existential subjects. For example, we had a discussion about if a head could live after being decapitated…all on our way to check out a potential harvest unit. And Bob even picked up on MY sensitive side, and actually told me he wasn’t going to share some experiences he had, just so I wouldn’t dwell on it and stress out.
So it disturbed me that I was feeling sad at his retirement party. Wasn’t I supposed to be happy for the guy? Why was I being so selfish all of a sudden? Shoot, I had a mind full of happy things to talk to him about, but when I finally got to where I could shake his hand and basically say goodbye, all I could manage was, “This sucks. Stay in touch.” I had to quickly turn my back on this man who led a full career in the Forest Service so I wouldn’t break into tears. So, per my routine, I went on a drive to try and figure out what was going on in my head. I thought about it and alternated between being sad and being happy for about 30 minutes when it finally occurred to me!
Who in your life was a calm and understanding teacher who gave you knowledge that you still use to this day? Who had small habits that now you find yourself doing? Who took you out and showed you their world, let you into their mind, and tried to instill a little education on you? Who was happy, but stern, who you didn’t ever want to let down? Who led by example and demonstrated things that made you want to be just like them…but in your own way? Then, who was there to see you off…after doing their part in training you, as you embarked on the next aspect of your life without their constant guidance? If you aren’t thinking of your Mom or Dad, or a very close mentor…I’m not sure if any of this makes sense. But it became crystal clear to me. Over the course of five years, Bob had become my mentor and my friend. It was hard to see him leave because I think I was scared, much like shaking my Dad’s hand and hugging my Mom when my folks dropped me off at college. After some more thinking, I realized I started thinking about this at the retirement party. I desperately wanted to stand up and thank all the people that trained Bob to be who he was, because he passed the torch to many of us as well. Unfortunately I couldn’t, as I was having trouble composing myself, but I’m better at writing my thoughts anyways.
Overall, it’s life without them. It’s like starting a new chapter in your life using all the wisdom they tried to pound into your head, and passing that on to others. So of course it’s hard, of course it’s emotional, and of course the emotions vary from ecstatic to sorrowful. It’s exciting to be on your own and plan your new future, but letting go is always a tough thing to do. Much like Bob, I need things to make sense in my head…good or bad. I just need the comfort it provides. Once I had that thought in my head, I became much more comfortable and calmed down quite a bit. This is simply the next step in my journey, I’ve done it before, and I can do it again.
And to this day, I still don’t want to let any of them down, and I can easily promise that I won’t.
With that, farewell Bob, enjoy your retirement. See what else life has to offer and be sure to drop us a line once in awhile to fill us in. We all love you and wish you the very best.
posted by geotracker12 at 11:33 AM
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