Of how many things can be said "We didn't really appreciate it until it was gone?"
The sentiment unquestionably applies to time, which passes in measured segments the same today as 50 or 100 years ago. Yet it is perhaps only when we realize there's less of it ahead of us than behind us that we long to slow its incessant march.
What’s the point?
An effort to videotape stories from past and present residents of Cane Hill demonstrates the value of preserving oral histories.
Similar statements apply to relationships. Humans have been known to strain them to the breaking point only to realize too late what's been lost. Or we fail to prioritize time with someone we care about, then wish longingly for a restoration of an opportunity that's now irretrievable.
And freedom? How many warnings have we heard through the ages about its erosion by the constant drip of smaller-scale oppression (can there be such a thing?) rather than a tsunami of enslavement? We wouldn't suggest embracing a lot of lessons from the late Russian President Boris Yeltsin, but he said something worth hearing about today's subject: "We don't appreciate what we have until it's gone. Freedom is like that. It's like air. When you have it, you don't notice it."
History falls constantly under the heading of the unappreciated, particularly when it comes to structures and monuments that are no longer in vogue. We maintain there's an often clear difference between a place that's just old and one that's truly historic, but in either case, when they're gone, they're gone. When their historic significance can be established, many sites are worth preserving in ways that put them to good use while helping to connect us to our past.
But there's other history worth preserving, and it's often the kind people just assume will always be around. We're talking about oral history, the kind that's experienced firsthand or the stories passed down from one generation to the next around front porches and kitchen tables.
Unfortunately, the best recollections often die when their tellers do. But with today's technology, it doesn't have to be that way.
And so it was with great appreciation we read the other day about efforts in the small Washington County community of Cane Hill to ensure those spoken stories don't disappear. With the volunteer work of former newspaperman Scott Davis, the nonprofit Historic Cane Hill Inc. is recording video interviews with older people who grew up in the community.
"It's not just about saving buildings," said the organization's executive director, Bobby Braly. "It's also about saving memories."
Like many of us, Davis and Braly appreciated those stories from older generations but had not acted to preserve them. According to Davis, they were jarred into action when one of the great storytellers of the area passed away. They regretted missing their opportunity with her and decided not to miss it with others.
So the work continues in Cane Hill to document the past as remembered by those who lived through those times.
Nobody's going to make a fortune -- or much of anything -- doing the work involved with the Cane Hill project, but the preservation of those recollections will serve the community for years to come.
Fayetteville is home to the David and Barbara Pryor Center for Arkansas Oral and Visual History, a project of the University of Arkansas that, on a grander scale, seeks to collect, preserve and connect the stories of Arkansans to those who have not heard them. The effort is an impressive one.
And so is the effort in Cane Hill, where the interviews perhaps serve a smaller audience, but the same purpose of incomparable value.
Commentary on 05/09/2017