I Climbed a Tree

One of the things I love about my work is that it is widely varied. This week, for example, I find myself leading three educational groups for clergy, planting crops, preaching on Sunday morning, harvesting asparagus, officiating a funeral service, feeding pigs, reading theology, preparing the brooder for 500 new baby chicks, writing for a newsletter, seeking out a source for local pepperoni, tearing down part of an old house to salvage its brick, and...well, you get the idea. But the task that has captured the bulk of my time and attention is building a brick oven. (Beginning in June, Hawkins Family Farm will be offering locally-sourced, wood-fired pizzas each Friday as a revenue source for the HOPE CSA ministry).

As we laid out the oven, we noticed overhanging tree branches that may threaten the finished product. So yesterday evening, I climbed about 30 feet into a tree to cut off branches. As a kid, I really liked climbing trees. As a 54 year old, I still enjoyed it, though I was unprepared for the demands on my body required as I shinnied, twisted, stretched, pulled, scrunched, reached, splayed, wedged, and balanced.

Oh, to be ten again!

On Little Cat Feet

Carl Sandburg speaks of fog as coming in "on little cat feet," by which he seems to mean suddenly, quietly. One of our black cats, which Sarah named "Buddy," is like that. Sarah chose the name because this cat accompanies us behind the barn to do feeding chores. Each morning and evening I walk out alone and begin my work. Then all at once I feel a presence, and when I look up, I see Buddy, who has arrived on little cat feet, watching, waiting. (Buddy is hoping for a broken egg to eat.)

Other than this, we know little of quiet cats. Spring is the season for kittens being raised in various locations, which we usually discover by listening for noisy kitty cries. Sarah found Josie's kitties on an upper shelf in the truck shed, and has the goal of trying to get them to be human-friendly, but, as you can see from the photo, at least this kitten is not yet convinced.

The First Shorts of the Season

I've been eager to get early crops in the ground, but the wet weather and cold soil delayed things. So I was delighted to spend today under the May sun in the gardens, wearing old Carharrt shorts and a cut-off tee shirt. Daughter Sarah and I planted four blueberry bushes and five apple trees, and then I spent the greater part of the afternoon working the ground. The soil was slightly damp, but still tilled up nicely, in preparation for a major planting day tomorrow. I am tired tonight, and a little tender from the effect of bright rays on pale, hairless skin (I am always amazed at the way the winter-long rub of long pants removes about half the hair from my legs, which then takes all summer to grow back), but my fatigue feels good nevertheless. I work hard and enjoy what I do. And it is especially rewarding that I have found a way to share this with clergy as a teaching tool toward a more "organic" way of thinking.

So it surprised me today when my mind kept returning to the idea that perhaps I ought to find different employment.

Well, actually, I started to wonder if I ought not try to spend the next five years at a job where I made a real paycheck. Today I received the second grant request denial of the season. I am, of course, disappointed. And coupled with the huge drop in charitable contributions to HOPE CSA, I'm fairly worried about how things will progress through the year. So I started thinking...

I am grateful for options. But I really like what I do...

UK is OK

Single cream. Double cream. Clotted cream. For a lover of white fat such as I, Enghand is a great place to be!

I Started Reading the Bible Again

...not that I had stopped, really.  For many years I have used the Moravian Church's Daily Texts in order to read a couple of selected Scripture verses, along with a couple of related hymn stanzas, each morning.  But reading a couple of verses is not like reading a couple of chapters.  So I decided, as a discipline of Lent, to begin reading through the Bible as well, using a scheme that takes me through the entire Bible in two years.  I am enjoying it immensely, especially as feel myself being re-formed by the familiar cadences and lyrical phrasing and beckoning themes I encounter.  Thanks be to God.

Christian Courage

At this time of year I can regularly be found at the local bar and grill, the Main View Inn, where there sits in a permanent place on a shelf a one-litre glass mug with my name engraved on it.  I was there last night.  My son was seated next to me with his mug full.  My mug remained on the shelf, because I made the decision to give up alcohol for Lent, aiming for a sacrifice that would get my attention.  I really wanted a beer last night, but steadfastly refused, despite the ravages of temptation.  Who says Christians don't have true courage?

Home-Comers

This morning I read a quick summary by Ellen F. Davis of an idea from book that I have had on my shelf--left unread--for many years, Small is Beautiful.  Dr. Davis writes:  "A generation ago, economist E.F. Schumacher described the mind-set and economic practice dominant in our time as "the forward stampede";  those committed to it are bent on ignoring the limits inherent in human existence, their watchwords being "more, further, quicker, richer."  In their view, the crises we face are to be handled, not by reconsidering the course of our technological "progress," but rather by completing it.  Schumacher contrasted the people of the forward stampede with those he called "home-comers."  The latter recognize that the beauty and dignity of human life depends upon living within certain limits that are necessary and therefore becoming."

I am tempted to move Schumacher's book off the shelf and onto the "to read" pile.  It seems to me that home-coming is living local, under a local economics that is, indeed, healthy and beautiful.  Our current global economic failure suggests that we at least take this idea more seriously.

Light. In the Dark.

On Christmas Day, finally we woke up to bright sunshine!

I went out to the barn to find a dead calf.

On Christmas Eve, we sang glories!

But my father was not in the pew with us.

The light shines in the darkness, after all.

Economy and (oh my!) Frugality

Ethicist Albert Borgmann wrote a book titled "Real American Ethics."  His contention seems to be that "real" ethics are those based on values rooted in "the household."  What makes for the good life in a household?  Answering this question may be a way to understand something helpful about moral choices.

A central aspect of a household is its "economy," its ordering.  (The Greek roots of the word literally mean "the ordering of the household."  Borgmann suggests that it involves "the art of householding.")  On what basis do we order our households?  What values inform this ordering?

The national/global economy is, in a manner of speaking, the ordering of a very large household.  It is ordered on the basis of, well, money.  To make the economy function well, we members of this large household are told to spend a lot of money, to buy a lot of stuff.  We are not heeding this advice of late, and the economy is, as some put dramatically, "grinding to a halt."

I have not heard much talk about it, but it seems to me that the high consumption value that informs the ordering of this household ought to be called into question.  In the current economy, an ancient household value, frugality, is unacceptable.  I think there is something wrong with this.

I recently heard on NPR's Planet Money podcast that every aspect of the current national/global economy is "in the toilet."  Everything is broken.  Everything.  If the current national/global economy were a car, every system would be in need of repair:  the tires are bald and dry-rotted, the engine has seized, even the windshield is cracked.  The response:  "It will take a long time to fix these things."  A more reasonable response would be to get a new car, or, perhaps even a new means of conveyance rather than repair the old.  A new economy that allowed for frugality, perhaps? 

I heard a story of a local bank that deals heavily with the frugal Amish.  Because of some strange law, lending money for a building without electricity precludes the bank from selling the mortgage or using some "fancy" modern financial instrument, so these loans are kept in-house, the money lent and borrowed and paid back in the local community.  This bank, in the current global economic crisis, has had its best year ever.

Belief and Doubt

Belief and doubt both tug and pull at our hearts, which allow faith a living dynamic rather than a static position.  I often speak with St. Peter, "Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!"  Miguel de Unamuno says it in this hopeful way:  "Those who believe in God without passion in their hearts, without anguish in mind, without uncertainty, without doubt, without and element of despair even in their consolation, believe only in God the idea, not God himself."

Gratitude

Thomas Merton:  "To be grateful is to recognize the love of God in everything he has given us--and he has given us everything....  Gratitude therefore takes nothing for granted, is never unresponsive, is constantly awakening to new wonder and to praise the goodness of God.  For the grateful person knows that God is good, not by hearsay, but by experience."

Kathy Speaks Out

Between Heaven and Earth

Click on the picture for a larger view:

Here's the picture in my mind:  on a beautiful autumn evening, between one and two hundred people are gathered  out in the gardens of Hawkins Family Farm.  They are seated between heaven and earth at tables dressed in white tablecloths.  On their china plates they find food that was grown or raised not far from where they sit, exquisite dishes prepared by a local chef: slow-cooked beef brisket, blueberry pork, herb-rubbed chicken, rainbow carrots, sauteed greens, crusty pain du levain bread, fresh peach cobbler, and more.  They sip a variety of local beers, a different one paired with each course, including dessert.  They linger for hours, until sunset, when table candle are lighted, enjoying the slow food experience of a five-course meal.

Wouldn't you like to be one of those seated at the table?

Well, you can!  Picture yourself as you gather at Hawkins Family Farm about 4pm on Saturday, September 27, 2008, being handed an artisan-crafted beer as you wait for others to arrive.  Picture yourself as you take a brief tour of the farm, concluding at the tables set near the gardens, where you begin eating the freshly-made appetizer and sipping a different beer brewed locally by Mad Anthony Brewing Company (www.madbrew.com).  Picture yourself enjoying pleasant conversation and the rich tastes of carefully prepared food by local chef Jennifer Disler.  Picture yourself sitting near the lush green pasture, posing a question to a local food producer who is talking about the food he has raised for this meal.  And then, almost four hours later, at 7:33pm, when the sun sets, picture yourself suddenly amazed at the light show of the fireflies across the fields. Finally, shortly after 8pm, you and the other happy eaters head for your cars, smiling with satisfaction for an evening well spent...

For more information, see www.hopecsa.org

Say Something

Recently Kathy and I visited our daughter Sarah at her new home in Minnesota.  It was good to be with her after many weeks of being apart.  During our stay she looked me in the eyes and, with utmost seriousness,  said, "How ARE you, Daddy?"  She's concerned about me, particularly since I've written nothing since my June 4 blog describing my "dull weariness," from which she's been taking her cues about me (since I don't spend much time talking to her--or anyone--on the phone).

So I need to say something by way of update.  I am pleased to report that dull weariness is giving way to renewed energy for the living of each day.  Yes, I miss my father and continue to grieve his loss.  But I'm not so mopey now.  Time does offer a measure of healing, bit by bit.  Thanks be to God.

A Dull Weariness

It has been many weeks since I've written anything.  Posting to this blog requires from me a combination of a) something that strikes my fancy; and b) the discipline to sit down and think it through by writing about it.  Over the past weeks I have seemed to lack both requirements.  I observe interesting things and yawn rather than wonder.  I stare at the laptop and imagine the effort required to lift the lid.

I have been navigating the Spring with a dull weariness, which I assign to my peculiar way of grieving the loss of my father.  The human emotional system cannot handle the huge fact of complete loss all at once, which is why the earliest days are characterized mostly by numbness. Then, numbness slowly and erratically gives way to the great pain that the loss has created.  It takes a lot of energy to suppress pain, to stay numb.  It takes a lot of energy to deal with the honest pain that surfaces.  The hope is to spend the energy in proper proportion, like moving one foot forward and then the other, so that each is one day played out.  For two months my mind has had no interest in picturing my Dad's final minutes and last breath; lately, as I fall asleep at night, the picture enters my mind and I am not sure I want to see it.  To grieve well I need to receive it rather than refuse it admittance, for by receiving it I put the pain step ahead of the numbness step in order to move forward.

It will be a couple of years, at least, of such stepping.  It reminds me of the arduous steps required to climb that final very steep couple hundred yards of Outlaw Mountain in South Dakota's Black Hills.  Ten steps and I'm out of breath and must pause.  But then I catch my breath and keep going.  And every time I've made the attempt, I've made it to the top.