tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38636951991012659372024-03-12T16:14:06.979-07:00Taproot GardenSeeking depth and nourishing strengthTim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.comBlogger368125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-15218578507640857452023-12-24T06:37:00.000-08:002023-12-24T06:37:58.562-08:00The Music of a Winter Walk<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv8O2rpLClsp7p7hX-7-EVqY86QXp_U4UblxsMeUKWVIK65JSkpCRK57UeqBvb6pzsl7kfBkVtwnXWHlxFa-DlTGQbk0CQUazW7uBaggyQ79pCGsZDYpAiqsFN3hgoOUCaoazh5-gq8K2ZTGRKGBBHdJqFnNysiF-mpx-DUfqswma_EXGVg4tO3svqFF1X/s4032/IMG_1361.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv8O2rpLClsp7p7hX-7-EVqY86QXp_U4UblxsMeUKWVIK65JSkpCRK57UeqBvb6pzsl7kfBkVtwnXWHlxFa-DlTGQbk0CQUazW7uBaggyQ79pCGsZDYpAiqsFN3hgoOUCaoazh5-gq8K2ZTGRKGBBHdJqFnNysiF-mpx-DUfqswma_EXGVg4tO3svqFF1X/w240-h320/IMG_1361.jpeg" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">On the first real afternoon of “true” winter, we took the short hike through our woods. “Winter,” of course, doesn’t mean what it once did in Iowa. It was 60 degrees and damp from recent drizzles - a long way from the feet of snow and frigid air once routine here this time of year. Of course very little in Iowa resembles what it once did. Once hospitable, reasoned and magnanimous, the body politic has become wrong-headed, small-hearted and mean-spirited. While global warming has stricken the climate, social chilling has enveloped our culture. Desperately in need of attracting new residents, we seem determined, instead, to repel them. Climate change, indeed.<br /><br />But that’s another story. <br /><br />Today, in late December, the afterglow of the Winter Solstice, when snow, by all rights, should be covering the landscape and parkas insulating our bodies, we hiked in shirt sleeves; </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">our boots caking mud instead of ice.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">.<br /><br />There was evidence of green close to the ground. There were buds on bushes and trees. A few chestnuts had fallen which we’ll pick up tomorrow when we return with heavy gloves to blunt the spiky jacket. We saw no animal movement beyond the single rabbit that scurried away from the threat he perceived us to pose, though the evidence of deer passage was plain and plentiful. What struck us the most were the fallen limbs. Everywhere - in the woods, on the trail; twigs and branches, limbs and whole trees. Nature’s pruning. Today’s detritus, tomorrow’s fecundity. Which is to say that the trees, too, have changed; though while we have collectively grown tighter, they have simply become lighter. Everywhere around us in the silent woods, a quiet sigh of fatigue or repose settling into winter’s quiescence. <br /><br />We pushed a few branches aside as we passed, admiring the juniper berries and the undulations of the land before emerging near the bee hives into the prairie, and its tall veiling grasses. This, too, an echo of what Iowa used to be. And we drifted back along the westerly section of the trail toward home. It was good to be out, even if it doesn’t feel like winter. Tomorrow, if the weathercasters can be believed, will be warmer still, and then rain on the day after. <br /><br />But today we walked in the woods, and shivered for reasons that had nothing to do with the weather. It was good to be outside, taking long steps and deep breaths. And in the dimming stillness of the afternoon’s setting sun we hear a hint of the carol, “...all is calm, all is bright.” Surveying the wind-blown branches and broken limbs - the flotsam and jetsam of stormy turbulence - we hear a hint of angelic reassurance, “Don’t be afraid.” In the unbent tall grasses, the prophetic pronouncement, “Peace on earth, goodwill...”<br /><br />And we shivered again as, just for today, we knew it.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZMNTF1T9VkziCG_UfL6WwCxPc2b-ogjwvAKJaGn_Fbounsh692zNaai9EMdIZx1CvyK7R7B8lvXS73_ElcubGk5TBfWpljX1rqfGNM3kNXVdRWsDeqsD2PY1REhk2L9rjzVJQMuJliJsrNJvAlWXPFoVMnc-5kLyYsRsLYlW-4KO5rFTEGzo1w1r-DzNd/s4032/IMG_1364.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZMNTF1T9VkziCG_UfL6WwCxPc2b-ogjwvAKJaGn_Fbounsh692zNaai9EMdIZx1CvyK7R7B8lvXS73_ElcubGk5TBfWpljX1rqfGNM3kNXVdRWsDeqsD2PY1REhk2L9rjzVJQMuJliJsrNJvAlWXPFoVMnc-5kLyYsRsLYlW-4KO5rFTEGzo1w1r-DzNd/w300-h400/IMG_1364.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div></span><br /> </span><br /><p></p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-16625688525911441102023-11-26T06:55:00.000-08:002023-11-26T07:48:14.491-08:00A First Snow’s Morning<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1X6nBnLIgiEWQP5xUR9PXEQXuQ-fqaQI1p3nAEYS8uAtaiZ7ra3ATIQc4rQKAQO32ljgbFySdUSBo548GKs8-blIPIzMlLHAtkQt7zAthrZRGeMEqJZMqfBYyORZBDbSeSmLviqZC36gOSK4TKYD8MvxEg6hMOXwi45TF0iwX4BZNZ8Fa7erFyUdG0WKy/s4032/IMG_1345.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1X6nBnLIgiEWQP5xUR9PXEQXuQ-fqaQI1p3nAEYS8uAtaiZ7ra3ATIQc4rQKAQO32ljgbFySdUSBo548GKs8-blIPIzMlLHAtkQt7zAthrZRGeMEqJZMqfBYyORZBDbSeSmLviqZC36gOSK4TKYD8MvxEg6hMOXwi45TF0iwX4BZNZ8Fa7erFyUdG0WKy/w300-h400/IMG_1345.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>First Snow</b><br />This is the gift the world has given him:<br />snow in hallows on roofs, branches, streets,<br />the long white candle on the window,<br />burning to dusk while snow fills up the city—<br />all these white contours filling his life—<br />starlight behind daylight wherever he gazes</span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">~Jonathan Moya<br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Haiku - Snowflakes </b><br />snowflakes<br />on my lashes<br />tears of joy</span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">~Orense Nicod </span></p><p><br />
</p><p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;">The classic philosophical, theological curiosity is the number of angels that could dance on the head of a pin. I’ll leave that dilemma to the theologically bored and speculative. This morning I am more fascinated by an earthier query: how many snowflakes can gather on the head of a hydrangea, at just the perfect angle of repose? How many can squeeze themselves onto a pine needle, like birds on a wire, until the whole assemblage spills on this morning following the first snow of the season?</span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;">The questions only serve the smile that has elicited them. I accept that the precipitation likely inconveniences the lagging “Black Friday” shoppers, and inhibits “Small Business Saturday” browsers and diners. There will likely come a time, in February or March, when the sight of flakes descending will evoke a cursing groan, but here in the waning days of November, while Thanksgiving leftovers still crowd the refrigerator shelves, the exhilaration is giddy. I shiver - partly from the crisp autumn air, but mostly from a wondrously childlike joy. </span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;">There is a brief wince of course. For all of our preparations for winter around the farmstead that have lulled us into smug satisfaction, I am haunted now by the details yet undone - like removing the mower deck from the tractor and attaching, in its place, the snowblower. Scraping the shovel across the inches accumulated on the front porch, additional items join the list. Like locating my leather work mittens and checking our supply of ice melt. More straw bales are needed in the chicken yard, and the bees need a final check.</span></p><p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;">And it will all be gone before very long. The melting has already begun in the white crystalline light of morning. It's not yet winter after all, despite this brief foretaste. <br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4em9MWRIEfWcMMwJP41uiusZbyK80rh6kAQD1yb3FKiprQPwLQlzuj3vBOFMle3yG33tQa8qslNGE42_eYCrUnPrktXtAjK9jXcwhUjz_PLUPe1fNY65xc-72h1RWLwhJmIHSj2l5-ppTzTgTHQi2687SdgmHIHHnnYbcsxGAZOkQKWJdrZQAU6cpRndE/s4032/IMG_1344.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4em9MWRIEfWcMMwJP41uiusZbyK80rh6kAQD1yb3FKiprQPwLQlzuj3vBOFMle3yG33tQa8qslNGE42_eYCrUnPrktXtAjK9jXcwhUjz_PLUPe1fNY65xc-72h1RWLwhJmIHSj2l5-ppTzTgTHQi2687SdgmHIHHnnYbcsxGAZOkQKWJdrZQAU6cpRndE/s320/IMG_1344.jpeg" width="240" /></a></span></div><p></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;">For now, though, it is enough to relish this first snow’s morning. </span></p><p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;">To shiver. </span></p><p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;">To tally that crowded pine needle. </span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;">And like the child I never want to forget how to be, </span></p><p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;">to smile.</span></p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-16048887809509337422023-11-14T10:22:00.000-08:002023-11-14T10:22:29.873-08:00And Now The Quieter Stillness<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span></span></p><blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPtTpgx1z_AqOkWmU458pkE04GPi_AP_XsDE-5hord0I9XjKi1JPt8TYV21ZAiOMdHZ4i8e2JwwM7Tbl_nQ0hqyTKRgd4LzIOdzYTp78hjGJbWp0R4HaEsMXa_vniUAf0bU4alXCYOjbFEq42Ndv4srnfkP65HepVtNpk1S-kSDMJ9wK-XHWX033u7-0KA/s2579/IMG_1332.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1133" data-original-width="2579" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPtTpgx1z_AqOkWmU458pkE04GPi_AP_XsDE-5hord0I9XjKi1JPt8TYV21ZAiOMdHZ4i8e2JwwM7Tbl_nQ0hqyTKRgd4LzIOdzYTp78hjGJbWp0R4HaEsMXa_vniUAf0bU4alXCYOjbFEq42Ndv4srnfkP65HepVtNpk1S-kSDMJ9wK-XHWX033u7-0KA/w400-h176/IMG_1332.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">“</span><span face="".SFUI-RegularItalic"" style="font-style: italic;">All is safely gathered in,</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-RegularItalic"" style="font-style: italic;">Ere the winter storms begin.</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">”<br /></span></span></p></blockquote><p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">It is the quiescent season that has settled upon the farmstead. The garden is cleared and settled for winter. The chicken coops have been prepared for the cold. The brush has been mowed and the tools are in the shed. The farmstead is resting. </span><span face="".SFUI-RegularItalic"" style="font-style: italic;">All is safely gathered in</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">As a teenager I sold ice cream on the streets of my hometown from a little three-wheeled gas-powered Cushman ice cream wagon. The Popsicle wrapper referred to the contents as a “quiescently frozen confection”. Somehow, in those pre-Google days I learned that the word simply means “from a restful state” - liquid placed in a mold and left alone to freeze - as opposed to ice cream which is born from the agitation of constant stirring.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">And so these rural quiescent days, born from a restful state. It arrives with weary welcome. The fruitfulness of summer and the frenzied preparations of autumn come at the price of long and exhausting hours and stiffly sore muscles, grateful rest, albeit little enough. Even then it is difficult to keep up. There always seems to be more to do than time and energy can match. And so it is that the stored rain barrels, the rolled hoses, and the resting tools elicit a contented exhalation. </span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">Even inside the house the common flurries of harvest activity has stilled. The canning water has cooled, the dehydrators are unplugged, and the cabbage is fermenting in the crocks. Other stirrings have taken their place, but it is movement of a different sort; more cerebral, more cultivation and harvest of the head and heart.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxpDQPtYU8WTHGTgOE6FUmaDbVrwcX2e6xj0AYOYFz16rrpzabdTzDy6tHFG7zZ3gmjJ0EGP4K0nE2Yptld2Lze6UhCmygsszAIs1WxBG1sdI1eg51_2fGPX_Zcsefvnr7mNacg2LcWL4z7l-BI9dobEN8inSOZGnljRVog9UumsjfIvDivk1UsVgfwq7K/s3675/IMG_1331.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3675" data-original-width="3004" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxpDQPtYU8WTHGTgOE6FUmaDbVrwcX2e6xj0AYOYFz16rrpzabdTzDy6tHFG7zZ3gmjJ0EGP4K0nE2Yptld2Lze6UhCmygsszAIs1WxBG1sdI1eg51_2fGPX_Zcsefvnr7mNacg2LcWL4z7l-BI9dobEN8inSOZGnljRVog9UumsjfIvDivk1UsVgfwq7K/s320/IMG_1331.jpeg" width="262" /></a></span></span></div><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />And so we will see what crystals form in us as the temperatures drop on this more restful state - what flavors might brighten for the delight and quenching of a later day. Perhaps we will use them to cultivate friendships rather than flowers. Perhaps we will use them to feed fresh ideas and innovative possibilities for healing the discourse so poisoned in the culture around us even as we learn new methods for healing the garden soil. Perhaps we will use them to strengthen and deepen the mutuality intrinsic in the companion planting of our marriage, even as we study better ways to position the vegetables to encourage and benefit each other. Perhaps we can use them to enrich our spiritual fertility, tilling into our very souls the organic matter of scripture and poetry, wise thinkers and the patient observation of awe. </span></span><p></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">And perhaps we will use this season of “a restful state” to rest.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">“</span><span face="".SFUI-RegularItalic"" style="font-style: italic;">All is safely gathered in.” </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">Time now to quiescently gather in ourselves.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-27608149227069541192023-10-26T10:33:00.001-07:002023-10-26T12:56:25.735-07:00Autumn Morning<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHe7q3xc-o1iaae-FC2E1133dP4yHye9jQJTXFZbAqpt6fNHsEJujj3SXnON-es23sF2IemBtzYm2cr87N7-OTo53ilrEUOj3sJcvUVY-XZu5MmCzzQhfjEwo72mjAaDtQQPO2NnVZbfcWi_uF7jKWI5l4oyu-PuphBbhTgljXxeVVoA5QKKR7IOjd8dBL"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHe7q3xc-o1iaae-FC2E1133dP4yHye9jQJTXFZbAqpt6fNHsEJujj3SXnON-es23sF2IemBtzYm2cr87N7-OTo53ilrEUOj3sJcvUVY-XZu5MmCzzQhfjEwo72mjAaDtQQPO2NnVZbfcWi_uF7jKWI5l4oyu-PuphBbhTgljXxeVVoA5QKKR7IOjd8dBL=s320" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_7294321642408485618" /></a></p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-43105887525837352262023-10-15T19:19:00.000-07:002023-10-15T19:19:11.186-07:00The Taste of Grace<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmQNYEABWjmoJfe1Ah2UHuzU6D_xLCWXH9QDyE0SfdpJ7_3xLvdZy1PwqmvBHIWP8f3-7t7S_GYrTvpQGeDds8GrFYDlwKip_KwSDtIob3PaSEhQkHLEywu7UWFAEbSV7bPtKOUJ1Z-bv7mxUrqccx-djA5tOK5W7cvDd2PkSGboN6zkMXn1Dn8oPHyxBn" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_7290374673855302274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmQNYEABWjmoJfe1Ah2UHuzU6D_xLCWXH9QDyE0SfdpJ7_3xLvdZy1PwqmvBHIWP8f3-7t7S_GYrTvpQGeDds8GrFYDlwKip_KwSDtIob3PaSEhQkHLEywu7UWFAEbSV7bPtKOUJ1Z-bv7mxUrqccx-djA5tOK5W7cvDd2PkSGboN6zkMXn1Dn8oPHyxBn=s320" /></a><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular"; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";">We enjoyed a caprese salad last night with dinner.</span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"> </span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";">You know, fresh tomato slices, fresh mozzarella, basil, olive oil and balsamic vinegar?</span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"> </span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";">There is really nothing especially novel about the dish, other than the fact that we had it, in mid-October, with tomatoes and herbs fresh from the garden.</span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"> </span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";">By this point in the season our tomato plants are typically spent.</span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"> </span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";">Indeed, we have been working in the garden, these recent days, pulling, clearing and readying the beds for winter.</span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"> </span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";">There are cover crop seeds to plant, after all.</span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"> </span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";">That, plus we have sorely neglected the garden this summer - abandoning it mid-season to tend to family matters out of state.</span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"> </span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";">True to expectation, the weeds and grasses went wild, like children once the adults have turned their back.</span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"> </span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";">The garden became an embarrassing jungle. </span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"> </span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"><span style="font-size: medium;">But leaning back into the care of it in recent days - yanking and hoeing and shoveling our way into the choking foliage - we discovered...</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"><span style="font-size: medium;">...generosity. Abundance, still. Patiently, forgivingly flourishing food - peppers, leeks, onions, carrots and beets, chard and kale, collards and, yes, tomatoes. There are even sweet potatoes lurking beneath the ground, and more than a few missed potatoes from the digging last month.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was an humble feast, then, crowned with the garden’s forgiveness. Tomatoes, yes, along with those errant potatoes; collards and peppers, leeks and onions and garlic and herbs. And apple crisp for dessert, because the orchard would not be outdone. </span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was nourishing, of course. Our bodies smiled with sated appreciation. Even moreso, it was delicious - the very taste of grace. Unmerited, unexpected grace.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Of course, that’s what grace is: unmerited munificence. Goodness where you had no reason to find it. No, abundance where you had every reason NOT to find it. </span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"><span style="font-size: medium;">And so it was that we chewed more mindfully, tasted more exactingly, savored with conscious and lingering intentionality. Nourished, yet again, by what we did not deserve. It was, as I say, the taste of grace. </span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"><span style="font-size: medium;">It is, of course, the taste of everyday - blessed and nourished by what we don’t deserve. </span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Maybe “caprese” should become our secret code word for “pay attention, grace is being served.” You know, for those times we might callously, or distractedly forget. </span></span></p><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><br /></div>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-90173872811453645412023-09-12T06:30:00.001-07:002023-09-12T06:36:04.865-07:00In Gratitude for the Day<div dir="ltr"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjAMRUwcBw-BHZqnCjX1dwoM2t8MxSw7GMWsQqzMouRqwYo1bFkzlMoyImQ-VI1Sj7F6538yUror5YzLGfASPscXzryd1twFiURp86NZwMJNnNjc0rMkK0cha2xFnIfJEBwU0_7LOFV0SaGbUvTSNklZZ2NBqy20rneLZEIzCv_B8j8acJbhtavbD69r1om" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_7277927124574395538" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjAMRUwcBw-BHZqnCjX1dwoM2t8MxSw7GMWsQqzMouRqwYo1bFkzlMoyImQ-VI1Sj7F6538yUror5YzLGfASPscXzryd1twFiURp86NZwMJNnNjc0rMkK0cha2xFnIfJEBwU0_7LOFV0SaGbUvTSNklZZ2NBqy20rneLZEIzCv_B8j8acJbhtavbD69r1om=w300-h400" width="300" /></a><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #202124; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span></div><div dir="ltr"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #202124; font-size: 10.5pt;"></span></div><br /><div class="ujudUb"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span></span></i></span></div><blockquote><div class="ujudUb"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span>"To open my eyes </span></i></span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span>and wake up alive in the world</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span>To open my eyes </span></i></span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span>and fully arrive in the world</span></i></span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span>With its beauty and its cruelty</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span>With its heartbreak and its joy</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span>With it constantly giving birth to life </span></i></span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span>and to forces that destroy</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span>And the infinite power of change</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span>Alive in the world"</span></i></span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span>--Jackson Browne </span></div></blockquote><div class="ujudUb"><span><br /></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #202124; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="font-size: medium;">A rabbit scurries across the lawn, disturbed by my approach, but already busy with its day. The morning sun is young, just breaking through the trees as I lug pails of chicken feed toward the coops. There is something settling, centering, about this morning routine - an homage to purpose, to capacity, to necessity. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The sky is clear and the air crisp after yesterday’s rain. Though technically still summer, this morning’s 47-degrees already feels like autumn. The scattering of fallen leaves punctuates the anticipation. Two deer stir from their reverie in the orchard, shaking off the last quiet grace of dawn – and no doubt the lingering taste of fallen apples – and lope into the woods. The chickens, of course, are long-awake. Eager in equal measure for the feed and the freedom, they cluck their impatience and, I like to imagine, their gratitude and greeting. It’s hard to mistake Dwayne the Rooster’s persistent crowing for anything but impatience. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I fill the feeders, open the hatches, and retreat back through the gate, my boots showering dew ahead of me with each step. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I’m feeling lazy about the day ahead. Though the heaviest harvest is behind us, there are still leeks in the ground, peppers on the bushes, and purple-hulled peas on the vines. Apples and pears and plums are ready for our attentions, and of course there is the fall clean-up to commence. Some of that will get some of my attentions today, but ragweed season in all its histamined glory is not a helpful workmate, and I’ve little energy for much beyond tissue retrieval and disposal. We’ll see how much or how little I accomplish.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But “accomplishment” is not the measure of the day. The day is its own glory, with or without my initiatives. It is both humbling and enlivening to reconcile with the reality that the morning is indifferent to my productivity. For the moment, then, I relish the light on my face, the cool on my skin, the shiver of delight, and the empty buckets in my hands. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s a new day, and I get to be alive within it. I’m grateful. </span></p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-73676548119867071192023-08-28T04:23:00.001-07:002023-08-28T04:23:55.230-07:00In Anticipation of the Dawn<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEyOozZZe85fJ5lrRQuSY-O-NbAUkuHSjFxUF7XaPk356XECxeoV6XZiIPwyEyNsQK3boIgTU0bUZcZl1I52fjMCxju51ZP7r31gF64UPs2PYbPIAKUviMUifUa08R7zxNUTKvPFFKZYKpJBF32vNvp0AXtBkgsvNI4SQsOxG8bkgh7ROJqCrQohXpOoQD" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_7272330818721912994" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEyOozZZe85fJ5lrRQuSY-O-NbAUkuHSjFxUF7XaPk356XECxeoV6XZiIPwyEyNsQK3boIgTU0bUZcZl1I52fjMCxju51ZP7r31gF64UPs2PYbPIAKUviMUifUa08R7zxNUTKvPFFKZYKpJBF32vNvp0AXtBkgsvNI4SQsOxG8bkgh7ROJqCrQohXpOoQD=w300-h400" width="300" /></a><span face="".SFUI-Semibold"" style="font-size: 12px; font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-size: large;">It’s not that I couldn’t sleep; just that sleep ended early. Reheating a mug of yesterday’s leftover coffee, I take a seat on the deck, gently rocking in the pre-dawn darkness. And listen. It’s not exactly silent; the chirps and clicks and miscellaneous thrums layer an underlying drone that bends my own rhythms to its pitch - like a tuning fork for the heart and mind. Part rhythm, part sound, my breath - already relaxed - slows even more as it becomes aligned with the lingering night noise. Even the reheated coffee tastes better.</span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">Gradually, imperceptibly, the edges of the horizon gain light - eastward, to be sure, but even in the recesses to the north the hint of a glow. It’s still dark, but my body moreso than my eyes perceives the change. Soon I will be able to make out the form of the landing plane in the distance, not simply its blinking light. Soon, the stars overhead will dissolve into the blue of the morning sky. Soon the green of the trees will swell the details of the branches and leaves beyond the current outlined silhouette. And just now, Dwayne, the rooster, announced that he, too, is aware of dawn’s approach.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">Last week the temperatures hovered around 100, and next week the prediction is a return to more of the same sweltering climatic malaise. But this week days will be mild and the darkness almost chilly. I draw my robe more closely around my shoulders and savor the rejuvenating cool. </span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">Reviewing the calendar, I confirm that there is no schedule to keep within the hours of this day, just the rhythms of the farmstead to honor. There is harvesting and groundskeeping and preserving. There are bees to tend and chickens to feed, eggs to gather and music to make and perhaps, when day is done, a fire to build in the pit.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">But for now there is the music of the night to hear, and the crescendoing morning. And the dawn to celebrate. Which might just be the most important work of the day. </span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">The chair rocks gently. I breathe slowly, and deep. And color teases the horizon. </span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">Good morning. </span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">Good, indeed.</span></span></p><p class="mobile-photo"><br /></p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-38566419078303387102023-05-30T06:58:00.001-07:002023-05-30T06:58:06.588-07:00The Long Game<p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LZBlnHIqpqUzw8XX8S6uKnHWL-Ry4JCSaDlxQg3wli1sbeOrowN0Yx2xRBShv-b4vIzjyNjwqoVGn7vLieYCZ0ctUW7GROOP63sQ_RIDU83ek3ld1OvBfNO4abUakijG8tNjhZfy5MzdTvpaJrYWmWadNTk2MlbyrvM6qTFiV05A9j-qkJ5qpbFNDA/s3264/IMG_0361.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LZBlnHIqpqUzw8XX8S6uKnHWL-Ry4JCSaDlxQg3wli1sbeOrowN0Yx2xRBShv-b4vIzjyNjwqoVGn7vLieYCZ0ctUW7GROOP63sQ_RIDU83ek3ld1OvBfNO4abUakijG8tNjhZfy5MzdTvpaJrYWmWadNTk2MlbyrvM6qTFiV05A9j-qkJ5qpbFNDA/w300-h400/IMG_0361.jpeg" width="300" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /> I </span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular"; font-size: large;">watch the young chickens while I water on the deck.</span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular"; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular"; font-size: large;">The labor allows for considerable watching.</span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular"; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular"; font-size: large;">Our deck is ringed with vertical PVC pipes - 18, plus the 14 French flower cans suspended in a steel frame - filled with potting soil, sown various herb seeds.</span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular"; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular"; font-size: large;">Watering doesn’t require much concentration.</span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular"; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular"; font-size: large;">The pipes stand just taller than the deck rail, no bending involved, and aim is the only requirement.</span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular"; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular"; font-size: large;">It is slow, quotidian work; mindless in that liberating way that untethers my attention, allowing it to drift like a stringless kite and snag on whatever branch or chimney or light pole happens into its path. </span><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular"; font-size: large;"> </span><p></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Those, or chickens. The young ones are segregated into a partitioned section of the chicken yard. With only a wire fence between them, there is plenty of opportunity for mutual observation and curious envy between these 12-week-olds and the mature ones on the other side. Eventually the adolescents will make the great migration into the big yard, making room for the next round of chicks even now trading down for feathers in the brooder in the barn, but for now their sequestration affords them a little kinder, more protected environment while they continue to grow. There will be time enough in the weeks ahead for their skirmishes with the big girls, and their introductions into the ways of life administered by Dwayne the rooster. For now, they flit and flurry their way from water to feed to bug to whatever else they happen to see. </span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"><span style="font-size: medium;">And I tip the watering can from pole to pole, spotting tiny sprouts slowing emerging. </span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"><span style="font-size: medium;">These early days of the growing season recalibrate my sense of time. What a tuning fork is to the ears, a seed - a chick - is to the soul. Someone once said, “Never travel faster than your guardian angels can fly.” Carrie Newcomer lyricises that wisdom into the caution not to “travel faster than our souls can go.” The farmstead constantly counsels me not to live faster than seeds can grow; than buds open into flowers; than bees make honey; than fruit ripens. To live at the speed of soul. Pouring on more water, after all, won’t speed up the process.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Every day, then, I fill the can and sprinkle the seeds, and wonder with awe at all that might be happening around me.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: ".SF UI"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: ".SFUI-Regular";"><span style="font-size: medium;">And within.</span></span></p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-58219735682819638372023-05-29T06:30:00.005-07:002023-05-29T13:03:41.670-07:00This Sanguine Moment in Time<p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYNEO6qAAhpeO2M47-4o9UT_kJly98dhTc0QyE2m4HTfQ1KmZ9-gVHyxLxxxaa_doIv6pGf0i6XzmB2EJGnv1MARKv0i59dTjq8dqHEVdKftNa0MjsDOVoGpRTXWYWxUX8x2Ytptfe-Khk135uHFiVRNgZOV7nJSh-mWygHZt1c0w4intFREK16fZLJA/s4032/IMG_0937.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYNEO6qAAhpeO2M47-4o9UT_kJly98dhTc0QyE2m4HTfQ1KmZ9-gVHyxLxxxaa_doIv6pGf0i6XzmB2EJGnv1MARKv0i59dTjq8dqHEVdKftNa0MjsDOVoGpRTXWYWxUX8x2Ytptfe-Khk135uHFiVRNgZOV7nJSh-mWygHZt1c0w4intFREK16fZLJA/w400-h300/IMG_0937.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">There is a soulful sanguinity to this transitional
moment.<span> </span>Garden planting is complete,
save for a few more flowers intended to feed the bees (and our own aesthetic hunger).<span> </span>The supportive systems – the wire cages, the trellises and
the plastic drip lines – are in place and functioning.<span> </span>After a frenetic and tiresome few weeks of
furrowing and transplanting, the initiating work is done.<span> </span>Exclamation and exhalation are both warranted
and earned.<span> </span>There is always work to do,
but in this still and transient moment, we rest in the transition between construction and maintenance. On this holiday weekend we intend to do a little of both: basking in the
satisfaction, and taking a deep breath.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">But as that opening sentence suggests, it is not simply that
the startup work is completed.<span> </span>More than
anything it is that the work is a down payment on hope.<span> </span>We haven’t sored our muscles and exhausted
our energies merely for the good and righteous discipline of it.<span>
</span>It was all in service to the prospect of growth – that the work would
eventually lead to something, produce something, that is profoundly good.<span> </span>And “here” is the only place to start if we
want to arrive “there”, at harvest.<span> </span>I am
spiritual enough to know that grace is real, and that blessings quite often
fall on the undeserving and the unprepared.<span>
Good things sometimes simply come whether we have seeded them or not. </span>I have been the beneficiary of too many of those to count to scoff at the wonder and the joy of them.<span> </span>But cultivation never got in the way of grace.<span> </span>I don’t think God takes offense at the little
bit of spade work we can contribute to the alchemy of abundance.<span> </span>Hence, the sweat and the fatigue and the ever-sore
muscles.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLKR6rHzN3z75TA1IgypaMP8Lkkni76Ln-jBDxVuw_ZlCiAaLQOwjAXM_u-44j_iiyTtcws2HqoVS_PWeX1XZ4JqdiCLNr482QS8jD0eCM3IJrEZvwu0z-_QCUnwOxde3LSBk7xiMXWCKrYmfDiF4-YGWKHSluG5hjSReAQlWj-X6aTDxcuTmkUabN7w/s4032/IMG_0938.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLKR6rHzN3z75TA1IgypaMP8Lkkni76Ln-jBDxVuw_ZlCiAaLQOwjAXM_u-44j_iiyTtcws2HqoVS_PWeX1XZ4JqdiCLNr482QS8jD0eCM3IJrEZvwu0z-_QCUnwOxde3LSBk7xiMXWCKrYmfDiF4-YGWKHSluG5hjSReAQlWj-X6aTDxcuTmkUabN7w/s320/IMG_0938.jpeg" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;">But even harvest is not the ultimate denouement.<span> </span>It, too - as good and celebratory as it will
be – is but the precursor to the kitchen, which is the on-ramp to the dining
room with its plated wonders and delights, and the satiated, satisfied smiles
that result.<span> </span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">For now, of course, the garden is more brown than green;
more loosened soil than sturdy plants.<span> </span>But
those nascent seedlings, both transplanted whole and popping up from below,
will have their day.<span> </span>Hope will find its height
and breadth and, if the malefactors are held at bay, its fruit.<span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">That is a question for another day, the predations that are
always lurking and how to counter them.<span> </span>This morning I am sitting on the deck in the cool of a quiet holiday, admiring
the work and its promise.<span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Hopeful.<span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sanguine.<span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">A deep and grateful breath.<span>
</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Rested.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Smiling.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Savoring the anticipation of the flavors just beginning to
stir.</span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-72219027597568352222023-05-25T13:18:00.003-07:002023-05-25T13:47:21.615-07:00Holiness in the Dirt<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-oDvGroQGUVaIYOi5-QwQshpS_cAYZDwwELP47hvavc4NqkxyHxqthChS1Y1o1sWR1AfAwCtOM1HjF7tYYubE1B59hkDmOm1BE4Z_cZDIttssJGnCF0FDKx2o3b-CKVzk00cAY2hoc7TOApK-RNReAgTtWGcLSZnpr3sZuZ-idpl31-UgI7U3CfS2LA/s3601/IMG_0923.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2697" data-original-width="3601" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-oDvGroQGUVaIYOi5-QwQshpS_cAYZDwwELP47hvavc4NqkxyHxqthChS1Y1o1sWR1AfAwCtOM1HjF7tYYubE1B59hkDmOm1BE4Z_cZDIttssJGnCF0FDKx2o3b-CKVzk00cAY2hoc7TOApK-RNReAgTtWGcLSZnpr3sZuZ-idpl31-UgI7U3CfS2LA/w400-h300/IMG_0923.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 11pt;">The work days were interestingly bookended.</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 11pt;">We started the week spreading worm poop – a ton of it; literally 2000 pounds of it – and ended the week spreading chicken poop.</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 11pt;">It’s a sentence that I couldn’t have imagined writing not too many years ago, but there it is:</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 11pt;">manure in all its glory, large and small, put to the ancient use of fertility.</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 11pt;">Reality is more exciting than the facts might sound.</span><div><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">It is planting season of course. The grass is growing, the chickens are laying, the dandelions are blooming, the flower beds are bursting, the rain barrels are filling. And we have been working. The garden beds have been prepared – cleared of remnant detritus and lightly tilled; scored with a hoe and drilled with an auger, the seeds have been meted out and the greenhouse seedlings have been transplanted. The tomato cages have been placed - though their securing still needs reinforcement - and the irrigation drip tapes have been unrolled into place. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">Life has been nudged forward in the direction of color and fruit, and thanks to the earthworms and the chickens, it has been encouraged. Fed. Nourished. Beckoned. With the manure. Small and large; worm and hen, bucket and shovel wielded by Lori and me. It gets down to basics - far from any glamour, it’s about the humble building blocks. The occasional rains will surely help, and when it refuses, the faucet. Sunlight will do its part, as will we with the hoe. But it’s the soil that will make the difference – the soil, elevated by the excrement.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">I once heard a famous chef observe that cuisines were born out of the creative use of the poor leftovers, the discards, the refuse. The result, he said with a smile, was the inversion of desire. Having discerned its quieter value, that creative use elevated and popularized the previously maligned, overshadowing the once-preferred. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">I have no idea who figured out this miracle of manure – above who’s ancient head the bulb of insight flashed on – but it’s funny to recognize that same inversion in the garden. What comes out of the ground as food is beneficially returned to it in digested, concentrated form. As important as are the seeds and the seedlings, it’s the shit that is the salvation. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">I suspect that truth is resident and operational in all manner of pursuits – for those with the patience to wait for it, the vision to discern it, and adequate humility to wield the shovel and carry the bucket and entertain the possibility that mouths are not the only valuable orifice. I have work to do in that regard, but in the chicken yard and the garden I have good teachers. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">And plenty of opportunities to learn.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">We shovel, then, and turn in the promise: a kind of genuflection amidst the sacrament of the soil.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p></div>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-71712209435693895662023-03-25T19:14:00.001-07:002023-03-25T19:14:04.983-07:00It’s a Smile of Course<p class="mobile-photo">You could take my word for it. I am, after all, 66 years old and have seen a thing or two. I have climbed my way through the educational system, earning a diploma and a degree or two or three. I have put in my years of employment of one kind or another - selling ice cream and communities, camps and congregations, eggs and tomatoes and a point of view. Or two. I have some credentials and credibility and some trips around the sun. Whether the sum of any of that is wisdom is anyone’s guess, but nonetheless you could take my word for it.</p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1mM-QQxcWeIG7HuQgk1aFDOhZJ8rX8JXjO2KUAhTNxfvEV_yfZRXoQfVHm1brV1KZSiOXplnL-Ckc_VbKMwcZLv56OPi4aEM989VQEhiNJvkw2H2AHgCucK0IBBnoUZZdH9tW5rDsFzs_cOJfY81YDrPFy9gwUGW_8J6Zw5BuYau8_ttJD0DCsBd4gw" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_7214656468056779138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1mM-QQxcWeIG7HuQgk1aFDOhZJ8rX8JXjO2KUAhTNxfvEV_yfZRXoQfVHm1brV1KZSiOXplnL-Ckc_VbKMwcZLv56OPi4aEM989VQEhiNJvkw2H2AHgCucK0IBBnoUZZdH9tW5rDsFzs_cOJfY81YDrPFy9gwUGW_8J6Zw5BuYau8_ttJD0DCsBd4gw=w340-h400" width="340" /></a>Or you could consult the scientists who routinely ask questions and seek credible answers. They have scanned the skies and attended conferences and published articles and calibrated distances and distilled the gases and charted the relevant rotations. </p><p class="mobile-photo">You could retrieve the almanac, assuming you can remember where you shelved it, check the date and trust the ancient wisdom. </p><p class="mobile-photo">You could consult the poets because poets, with their poetic eye and ear, routinely paint the truth and beckon us to stand beside them, shoulder to shoulder, and witness awes larger than life. </p><p class="mobile-photo">We could flip through the scriptures, righteously and “rightly dividing the word of truth,” but chances are the verse we would land on is from the muttering Micah who would quietly shake his head and remind us, “God has shown you, O mortal, what is good.”</p><p class="mobile-photo">“Goodness,” we might exclaim by way of response, “is there anything good?” </p><p class="mobile-photo">There is plenty to make us wonder. In my town a mother just killed her newborn. At the Capitol they are passing laws that amount to suffocation. At the bank they are wringing their hands - I am too when I look at my eroding reserves. In Eastern Europe, Goliath is bombing David who, so far, is successfully slingshotting a few well-aimed stones in return. And at schools, teachers must now set aside their teaching to assess genitalia and monitor bathroom access. </p><p class="mobile-photo">We could ask the churches, but what ones haven’t fallen asleep are largely fighting amongst themselves and aren’t likely to hear the question. Or are too busy gearing up for the Easter Egg Hunt to answer.</p><p class="mobile-photo">You could ask Siri or Alexa and they would surely have some well researched Wikipedia article to succinctly summarize the details.</p><p class="mobile-photo">Or, you could simply look up and draw your own conclusions - seeing for yourself that it is a smile - the moon whimsically offering a blessing for your night, your sleep, your punctuating period at the end of this day. </p><p class="mobile-photo">A smile. </p><p class="mobile-photo">It’s up there. You could ask someone or never even notice. Or in the process of walking the dog or turning off the light or peeking out the window or simply taking one last deep breath of this day, look up, zoom in, and claim it for yourself. A smile. The corners of Creation are curling upward in affirmation.<br /></p><p class="mobile-photo">And returning a smile of your own - for whomever and whatever might need one - offering the world a blessed and happy “good night.”</p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-26958607215146558442023-03-20T16:09:00.004-07:002023-03-20T16:09:44.357-07:00Away with the Prevenient and on to the Vernal<p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /> <span face="".SFUI-Regular"">We planted seeds today - collards and kale, tomatoes and peppers, onions and leeks, and strawberries.</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular""> </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">Not in the ground, mind you - it’s weeks too early for that.</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular""> </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">The populated seed trays are destined for the greenhouse where they will, if our green-thumbed prayers are answered, stir and sprout and spread their eventual leaves.</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular""> </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">But this is where it starts:</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular""> </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">with seeds, the granular beginnings that tilt toward fruitfulness.</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular""> </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">It seemed like the thing to do on the occasion of the Vernal Equinox - seeding, while also pondering when it last might have been that the word “vernal” showed up commonly in casual conversation.</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular""> </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">It was certainly before my lifetime.</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular""> </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">That’s a loss as I think about it.</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular""> </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">Of all the words to drop out of our vocabulary, we can ill-afford to lose those connoting “freshness,” “newness”, and “of the spring.”</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular""> </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">In a world whose cultural graces and political discourse seem iced into winter - clinched, hunched, curled inward - words bending toward growth and light strike me as precious enough to nurture.</span></span><p></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">Here, at least, then on this particular day when the Northern Hemisphere begins to tilt toward the sun thereby stretching the daylight and warming the air, we are reminded. It is officially spring. Life is officially new. </span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">At least the newness has begun. Perhaps that is why I like the word “tilt” so much as a description of this nascent transition. Nothing has plopped down upon us or fallen over on us. It is far less dramatic, far more incremental than that. Indeed, the casual observer might well have noticed no change at all from yesterday to today. The Vernal Equinox is, as the rock band “</span><span face="".SFUI-RegularItalic"" style="font-style: italic;">Chicago</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">” used to sing, “only the beginning.”</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDbqes9jpHnd1VoWrFsBBF5SKGJaRnxJHPDkso9HBlsxvZyWFzPwWxJDvQYgClDRjwEh74AvxHAdvcnoLCvE7HgifVA0xbo28GLExLnsnpPfKwsim9tdf8HDhZEQ5WnFL1_mqCKD8SyqelLGTq2R0dVv3oOUZ3QINsbXHa_LaCFzvk5BGvpoyKejZEg/s4032/71D02765-BF80-43B1-A504-B5EDC0E3DD72.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDbqes9jpHnd1VoWrFsBBF5SKGJaRnxJHPDkso9HBlsxvZyWFzPwWxJDvQYgClDRjwEh74AvxHAdvcnoLCvE7HgifVA0xbo28GLExLnsnpPfKwsim9tdf8HDhZEQ5WnFL1_mqCKD8SyqelLGTq2R0dVv3oOUZ3QINsbXHa_LaCFzvk5BGvpoyKejZEg/w300-h400/71D02765-BF80-43B1-A504-B5EDC0E3DD72.jpeg" width="300" /></a></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">But it is a beginning. And the testimony is prolific. The hens are laying, the grass is greening, the bulbs are slightly emerging, and buds are bulging from seemingly every branch, from forsythia to fruit tree. All that, plus it feels a little contagious - at least to a guy like me who has been feeling as stark and barren as the wintering trees, brittle limbs clattering in the wind. Without going into detail, I haven’t been my best self. Too much crankiness. Too much judgment. Too much anger over what I can little influence. Too much winter in my veins. Too much frost in my heart. I’ve needed a little tilt toward the sun. I’ve needed a little vernal nudge.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">Right on time, here we are. </span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">It is, as I noted, just the beginning. But it is beginning. Even Easter, the grandest vernality of all, is just around the corner - triggered by this very day, calculated as it is to rise on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal equinox.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">And so we tilt. </span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">Toward the sun.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">Toward life emerging.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">Toward - dare I say it? - fruit.</span></span></p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-48253495208958085542023-03-04T05:01:00.002-08:002023-03-04T05:01:38.418-08:00Tasting the Harvest in the Seed<p> "The 'already' and the 'not yet.'"</p><p>Throughout my professional life that refrain was a theological abstraction - a principled affirmation that called attention to what the Creator had already accomplished among us, juxtaposed with all that was still in process but incomplete. It was a tenet of faith; prayers of gratitude and petition clutching hands to step over the cracks in this sidewalk that is everyday life. </p><p>But there is no abstraction here. On the farmstead, the observation is palpably, descriptively real. This is the "already" anticipatory season of concrete steps that makes any derivative "not yet" abundance possible. We are busily pruning fruit trees - a wincing exercise of obligatory infanticide that trims branches already swelling with buds so that the remaining limbs can more vibrantly thrive. Horticultural sprays will quickly follow, affording the trees every advantage against pests and disease that organic care can offer. In the greenhouse, the first bags from the pallet of seed starting soil have been opened and blocked into trays now germinating the first of the garden seeds. From this point forward, additional trays will be added weekly until springtime transplanting. In the garden, Lori has been busy uprooting the dry remnants of last years vegetation clearing the way for fresh bed preparation to welcome those greenhouse seedlings that are still but twinklings in our horticultural eye. </p><p>And if you cock your ear just right you will hear, from the deeper recesses of the barn, cheeps from the baby chicks in the brooder that will one day, if all goes well, join the older girls in the coops out back; and still later, wait their turn for time in the laying boxes to deposit their eggs. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibgo5pk75EC2rhJG3B_fUZhQsesmixtbiL5jvVvaDHKoUxdW2GRuDHYnOWWgpc23OAUfUOEu0r-G7ZYtF3V0rjXSDq2krgCQQB7y8jIOtjfHmP4hxs1neJKAEMFj7p2fQrKfj8aSwY6hdHaAXdb5TXP5hkeGnN8-LD5rX4L_EqehnbE3VIY-DLkfutoQ/s4032/IMG_0687.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibgo5pk75EC2rhJG3B_fUZhQsesmixtbiL5jvVvaDHKoUxdW2GRuDHYnOWWgpc23OAUfUOEu0r-G7ZYtF3V0rjXSDq2krgCQQB7y8jIOtjfHmP4hxs1neJKAEMFj7p2fQrKfj8aSwY6hdHaAXdb5TXP5hkeGnN8-LD5rX4L_EqehnbE3VIY-DLkfutoQ/s320/IMG_0687.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>Such is the work "already" underway. If we do it care-fully, attentively, patiently, good will come of it - eventually. We might begin to find young eggs, should the chicks survive the precarities of growth and development and predation, some 20 weeks from now - August would be my guess; about the same time we are harvesting honey from the bees should their thriving and pollinating bless us with such. Asparagus, that perennial first-fruit of spring, should begin to emerge mid-May as a "teaser" for the harvests to come - garlic dug in July, commencing the cascade of fruitings that will continue through autumn. We won't get the first taste of tomatoes and peppers - the Crown Jewels of the garden - until August. The trees won't offer their gifts until September and October - potatoes sometime between the tomatoes and the apples.<p></p><p>Today, while pruning a limb or starting a seed or feeding a chick, it all seems a long way off - a "not yet" that feels almost mythical. </p><p>Which it will be if we don't commence the work now, already.</p><p>As with most of the harvests we hope for in life.</p><p>And beyond.<br /></p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-26605255755281116912023-02-20T14:29:00.005-08:002023-02-20T14:35:30.969-08:00Birds Do It, Bees Do It<p>It’s not what you are thinking.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhmPFo2eyo86E2zZ9hMndR3jCreB5ivNvBsnPhvP4qXpQa6xP_JbpGPIkUk5eed2fHb7vu1vk_MoN0LlY45Fcw2LNYnUOtMBjTn9DHxmYJ321lvo055Vv0NNvvZ3SNrDfWSv-uByTx6sIAh0GVaf-W9CNkHa4eNs4MACk4SKdiKkWzQAjWkKVBa1-M7A/s308/one%20another.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="163" data-original-width="308" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhmPFo2eyo86E2zZ9hMndR3jCreB5ivNvBsnPhvP4qXpQa6xP_JbpGPIkUk5eed2fHb7vu1vk_MoN0LlY45Fcw2LNYnUOtMBjTn9DHxmYJ321lvo055Vv0NNvvZ3SNrDfWSv-uByTx6sIAh0GVaf-W9CNkHa4eNs4MACk4SKdiKkWzQAjWkKVBa1-M7A/w400-h212/one%20another.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p>Related, I suppose, but the insight I am pondering is broader than libidinal instinct.</p><p>The topic for our monthly creation conscious worship experience yesterday afternoon was surviving winter, and breaking away from the warming flames emanating from the fire pit, we began our “wonder wander” near the chicken yard to ponder how the chickens do it. There are physiological processes that benefit the birds, but behavioral choices conspicuously save the day - and the nights. Despite the fact that there are two available coops between which the chickens could spread out it spacious comfort, during the winter months they unanimously opt to crowd into a single one, and it the smaller of the two. They keep each other warm.</p><p>From there we sauntered back to the bee hives - a proximity we don’t, in more active seasons, so blithely risk - to consider their winter survival. There is no heater nearby moderating their environment, nor have I added insulation to the hive boxes. The bees, we learned, benefit as well from some physiological modifications, but mostly, like the chickens, from behavioral ones: they form themselves into something of a ball at the center of the hive - huddling together, as it were. From there they are constantly trading positions - those on the outer portions of the ball moving inward toward the warmer center, while those duly warmed migrate out to the edges; a circulation constantly underway so that everyone takes its turn; everyone does it’s part.</p><p>Walking back toward the fire where our own warming could resume by the flames and each other’s company we considered the prairie grasses beneath our feet and what strategies are built into DNA for surviving Iowa winters. Going deep is certainly key - roots that, like the frost-free hydrants supplying water to farms all over the Midwest, descend safely beneath the average frost line to remain viable. But just as the grasses create a dense weave on the surface of the soil, their roots are surely as supportively communal under ground.</p><p>What wisdom were we to glean from nature’s classroom? Perhaps, quite simply, what God’s own voice pronounced in the very beginning: “<i>It’s not good for the muddy one to be alone,</i>” - a declaration almost certainly more than matrimonial. The sage in the book of Ecclesiastes boiled it down to this: “<i>If two lie together, they keep warm, but how can one keep warm alone?</i>"</p><p>This, the birds and the bees and the grasses understand - even the logs in the fire itself. The great musical theologian, Jack Johnson, sang it this way: “<i>It’s better when we’re together</i>.”</p><p>Birds, bees, grasses and poets. It’s the rest of us who can’t quite grasp the point.</p><p>It’s common, of late in matters of public self-identification, to indicate one’s preferred pronouns. But most of the time we deceive. In contrast to the “<i>he</i>”, “<i>she</i>”, “<i>they</i>” we routinely assert, the too-common truth is “<i>I, me, mine</i>.”</p><p>For the many of us who self-identify (beyond our pronouns) as “Christian”, we should know better - never mind the embarrassing and contradicting, misspent public face that name increasingly wears. The Christian life, according to Jesus and those who wrote about “the Way,” is plural. “<i>Love your neighbor as yourself</i>,” Jesus described as the penultimate commandment,” and “<i>No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.</i>”</p><p>Or this quick recap of the New Testament letters:</p><p>From the12th, 13th, 14th and 15th chapters of the book of Romans:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;">• “Love<i><b> one another</b></i> with mutual affection; outdo <i><b>one anothe</b></i>r in showing honor.”</p><p style="text-align: left;">• “Live in harmony with <i><b>one another.</b></i>”</p><p style="text-align: left;">• “Owe no one anything, except to love <i><b>one another</b></i>.”</p><p style="text-align: left;">• “Let us therefore no longer pass judgment on <i><b>one another</b></i>, but resolve instead never to put a stumbling block or hindrance in the way of another.”</p><p style="text-align: left;">• “Live in harmony with <i><b>one another</b></i>...”</p><p style="text-align: left;">• “Welcome <i><b>one another</b></i>, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you.</p></blockquote>From 1 Corinthians and Galatians:<br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;">• “When you come together to eat, wait for <i><b>one another</b></i>.”</p><p style="text-align: left;">• “Through love become slaves to <i><b>one another</b></i>.”</p><p style="text-align: left;">• “Let us not become conceited, competing against <i><b>one another</b></i>, envying <i><b>one another</b></i>.”</p></blockquote><p>From Ephesians and Colossians:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>• “Bear with <i><b>one another</b></i> in love.”</p><p>• “Be kind to <i><b>one another</b></i>, tenderhearted, forgiving<i><b> one another</b></i>, as God in Christ has forgiven you.”</p><p>• “Do not lie to <i><b>one another</b></i>.”</p><p>• “As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. Bear with <i><b>one another</b></i> and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.”</p><p>• “Teach and admonish <i><b>one another</b></i> in all wisdom”</p></blockquote><p>From 1Thessalonians, James and 1 Peter:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>• “Encourage <i><b>one another</b></i>.”</p><p>• “Do not grumble against <i><b>one another</b></i>.”</p><p>• “Confess your sins to one another, and pray for <i><b>one another</b></i>.”</p><p>• “Be hospitable to <i><b>one another</b></i> without complaining. Like good stewards of the manifold grace of God, serve <i><b>one another</b></i> with whatever gift each of you has received.”</p></blockquote><p>From 1 John:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>• “Have fellowship with <i><b>one another</b></i>.”</p><p>• “Love <i><b>one another</b></i>.”</p><p>• “Lay down our lives for <i><b>one another</b></i>.”</p></blockquote><p>“<b><i>One anothering</i></b>.” It is pretty common wisdom and instruction - in the first Bible that is creation, and the second Bible that is printed.</p><p>The birds do it. The bees do it. The grasses and their roots do it.</p><p>A modest proposal for the rehabilitation of our diseased culture: perhaps we should do it, too.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGXbIRdXorzlol-0lPdm4vIaqDHVta3OGu-YVSH4bWYJCwuDlFzSuEExEhU6US_s26OvKBBfI0POwQ2Zo26HLr_-vilR54mdlS9AeHrxaH2KqTgaKoaWV3DSFZb6H-aSBm6syo4M7S1EykCFqHa70mz3vfVn6ra_5gdtbxQXoc9nSt2fQ2PEDxcM9HbQ/s347/Hands%20Together.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="347" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGXbIRdXorzlol-0lPdm4vIaqDHVta3OGu-YVSH4bWYJCwuDlFzSuEExEhU6US_s26OvKBBfI0POwQ2Zo26HLr_-vilR54mdlS9AeHrxaH2KqTgaKoaWV3DSFZb6H-aSBm6syo4M7S1EykCFqHa70mz3vfVn6ra_5gdtbxQXoc9nSt2fQ2PEDxcM9HbQ/s320/Hands%20Together.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-67765998430532691912023-01-28T07:44:00.002-08:002023-01-28T07:44:44.308-08:00Cashmere Petals of Chill<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaA-qmC-j8f8lLV7FdqAywnCYORA-EzV27vIglE6z-07bUvUUm_y9Vq2OzTBEFhBt6304N4a7b_TQ_uLHo7cL5JnPZJmqqyo74LoUV0yYkx_j5so1TgCJyuSB_Llq4x7lzw1riUs055ulNY7S8Qr9v9iRd5MBHA9IWFIeyHzOo2mi-vauHSy3XyANkWg/s4032/AA1F5EF7-17C1-4958-B528-7AB5EC293EBE.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaA-qmC-j8f8lLV7FdqAywnCYORA-EzV27vIglE6z-07bUvUUm_y9Vq2OzTBEFhBt6304N4a7b_TQ_uLHo7cL5JnPZJmqqyo74LoUV0yYkx_j5so1TgCJyuSB_Llq4x7lzw1riUs055ulNY7S8Qr9v9iRd5MBHA9IWFIeyHzOo2mi-vauHSy3XyANkWg/s320/AA1F5EF7-17C1-4958-B528-7AB5EC293EBE.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;">Snow was falling as I trudged out to the chicken yard. It had begun in the darkness, already carpeting the front porch by the time first light sparkled the fresh descent. My booted footfalls crunched across the lawn’s accumulation, while the flakes fluttered and played and found their rest on bristled evergreens and hydrangea remnants, an uninhibited bird nest, and finally my eyelashes and nose. Celestial cashmere petals of chill.</span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;">It was cold, but the temperature was hard to notice amidst the atmospheric magic. In these moments the eyes were in charge moreso than the skin - apart, that is, from the shivers of delight. </span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;">With my opening of the hatches and lowering of the ramps, the chickens were free to descend and range the yard, but none seized the opportunity. Dwayne the rooster was crowing the sun up, but preferred to welcome the morning from the comfort of the wood shavings bedding the coop and the surrounding nestled warmth of the communal quarters. They will come down eventually - they get hungry, after all, and curious - but this morning they are happy to take it slowly. I can almost picture them inside lazying together with the poultry equivalent of a cup of coffee and the Saturday edition of </span><span face="".SFUI-RegularItalic"" style="font-size: medium; font-style: italic;">The New York Times</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;">, in no rush to trouble the new day.</span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxheJbBxJTUkzotbEJYLga3VTfc3jNdo2aq5xhme64v2hwelf9YL5iEjdqVRutUEqS3CFSuuI29cMm3aE8jlYhfvjrakfg36OkL7Xij6hjjEgNyHTWUaYDhoCGPEtcbBuqh7QJsYFTLy-0ncAcKAn_DGsc8q6PKOE8duEMvmB2JWEv7SZTSO9xUNeVtQ/s4032/IMG_0667.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxheJbBxJTUkzotbEJYLga3VTfc3jNdo2aq5xhme64v2hwelf9YL5iEjdqVRutUEqS3CFSuuI29cMm3aE8jlYhfvjrakfg36OkL7Xij6hjjEgNyHTWUaYDhoCGPEtcbBuqh7QJsYFTLy-0ncAcKAn_DGsc8q6PKOE8duEMvmB2JWEv7SZTSO9xUNeVtQ/s320/IMG_0667.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;">Returning indoors and stripping my coat, I found my place fireside with my own cup of coffee and copy of </span><span face="".SFUI-RegularItalic"" style="font-size: medium; font-style: italic;">The Times, </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: medium;">in no hurry of my own... <br /></span><p></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><span style="font-size: medium;">...Happily content to sit, to be, to count flakes through the frosted window, and smile at the memory of more than a few of them dancing on my nose, and settling in my lashes like pines.</span><br /></span></p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-48135877649813389572023-01-14T07:11:00.011-08:002023-01-14T08:13:02.905-08:00The Conviction of Things Unseen<p> <span face="".SFUI-Semibold"" style="font-size: 12px; font-weight: bold;"></span></p><blockquote style="text-align: center;"><i><blockquote>"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for..."</blockquote></i></blockquote><blockquote style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Hebrews 11:1)</span></blockquote><p></p><p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-family: inherit;">We haven’t seen an egg since before Thanksgiving. There are multiple reasons. Trauma was a factor. Throughout the weeks of August and September and into October, our happy little flock of 35 was steadily whittled down to 15 by the persistence of predators I proved helpless to forestall. However devastating to me was the demise, to the sisters who watched the carnage and had every reason to expect it to include them, it was paralyzing. They hadn’t recovered by the time molting season commenced - that annual period of feather shed prior to winter’s repluming. Throughout the molt, inner resources are shifted from egg creation to feather fabrication.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-family: inherit;">And then winter, itself, descended. It’s understandable to assume that hens simply find it too cold to lay eggs in winter, but in reality the constraint is light, not temperature. Chickens require 12-15 hours of light per day to generate eggs, and in winter the sun is simply not that generous. Through the solstice, darkness veils 16 of the available 24, incrementally yielding minutes thereafter. It takes awhile.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-family: inherit;">The hens contend with all these biological and celestial constraints, while Dwayne the Barred Rock Johnson, our foster rooster has...let’s just say “other impediments”. He'll not be laying any eggs.</span></p>
<p style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkyiS2A4afRy2Q8IKFHtkUkS2Qxh1BTJRmrwbdlYS5WYbf19vEo5Tznzpe9BfSLhv5BoN5g86XWYIzR10s9m3sP3M4km_Qk1FE2h9VGxrmxMhSI8ZjFlYR8bhju5C8089ulQVJik5r-QVB3IyaX2uY7ojv-FZrMHtb-svNMJ-TWIakLPeHx-SGg95hXA/s1083/31ACD534-B572-473D-A173-699B08A584EB.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1083" data-original-width="984" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkyiS2A4afRy2Q8IKFHtkUkS2Qxh1BTJRmrwbdlYS5WYbf19vEo5Tznzpe9BfSLhv5BoN5g86XWYIzR10s9m3sP3M4km_Qk1FE2h9VGxrmxMhSI8ZjFlYR8bhju5C8089ulQVJik5r-QVB3IyaX2uY7ojv-FZrMHtb-svNMJ-TWIakLPeHx-SGg95hXA/w292-h320/31ACD534-B572-473D-A173-699B08A584EB.jpeg" width="292" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As the new year has ventured deeper into January, however, I’ve been watching. Searching. Hoping. But not finding. They eat, they drink, they alternately scratch in the yard and huddle for warmth. But they do not lay.</span></div><p></p>
<p style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-family: inherit;">And then this morning, releasing the flock for another winter day, I glanced inside the nesting boxes where one hen lingered. Slowly she rose and descended the ramp to join the others for a sip of water and a bite of food, leaving behind...</span></p><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-family: inherit;">...the first green glimpse of spring. An egg, still warm and as fresh and promising as the morning sun rising in the eastern sky. The “<i>assurance of things hoped for</i>,” the foretaste of the feast to come.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-family: inherit;">Deep down, I suppose I knew that the nights of winter did not hold the final word - that spring would find us as surely as the dawn. But like Noah’s dove returning with an olive branch testifying to the reemergence of dry land, the fresh egg is a joyful confirmation that hope is not in vain. Spring is coming. And who knows what other gifts of new life? Perhaps it is too much to hope for that the winter of our political discourse will yield and warm to a more gestational climate; perhaps it is too much to suppose that we might awaken to the truth that our surroundings are our siblings rather than our plunder, or that our own flourishing is linked to our cooperation rather than our domination; that fertility, as nature teaches, depends on diversity rather than sameness. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-family: inherit;">Perhaps.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-family: inherit;">But this morning, in the midst of January - against all odds - I found an egg. </span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">A blessed and delicious - and promising - foretaste, indeed.</span></p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-63533651256964885382023-01-08T11:51:00.001-08:002023-01-08T11:51:19.901-08:00Mary, Once More Beckoning <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The day started cold, as winter mornings in Iowa are prone to do. Even the chickens were reluctant to emerge from the hatch I dutifully opened, or descend the lowered ramp. Indeed, the only incremental movement anywhere apparent was the fog, thickening the air into opaqueness, whiskering the bare limbs with hoarfrost. The hive boxes show no signs of bees. The remaining patches of snow, caught between melting or glistening, simply harden into crusts.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This is the season when, by all appearances, nothing at all is happening, or thriving, or moving. But yet again appearances are deceiving. Mary has moved. Indeed, she has fallen.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHRXqhPvXt91bRC9HlN97I7PE90yyXWG-quoJiVNj6HpTv3mkBhCmtP9UX6waiqIPt0w1XctlKsTuAmqfE0chc8DsDN9ZKv33WcgV_AzCqVgRLQK1B8AcNl4nAVjVm4y5mrOZj0eDdgERLJRJS1qN6vs2I4s-Rr7GG7LssaWlYSF3n_Lmo6sr52eGFg/s4032/IMG_0635.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHRXqhPvXt91bRC9HlN97I7PE90yyXWG-quoJiVNj6HpTv3mkBhCmtP9UX6waiqIPt0w1XctlKsTuAmqfE0chc8DsDN9ZKv33WcgV_AzCqVgRLQK1B8AcNl4nAVjVm4y5mrOZj0eDdgERLJRJS1qN6vs2I4s-Rr7GG7LssaWlYSF3n_Lmo6sr52eGFg/s320/IMG_0635.jpeg" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">Friends, in recent years, gifted us with a statue of Mary, the mother of Jesus. Standing perhaps two feet tall, she has thereafter graced the gateway to the garden – a maternal, gestational welcome to any who would pass inside; implicitly blessing hoes and hods and harvest crates passing by, or simply those with an appreciative appetite. She is facing down, eyes firmly on the soil; perhaps in prayer, or simply and knowingly of the mind that good things come from that direction. There she has stood throughout the seasons – remembering, blessing, anticipating; silently lending her prayer to the garden soil and the furrows inside for a fecund submission of their own: “<i>Let it be to me according to your will</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But this morning we found Mary toppled. It’s not that she was anchored in any reinforcing way – no cement or bolts or braces – but she is cement heavy and settled in a recess, frozen into place. Nothing has moved her before, neither wind nor bump nor time. Something, however, had dislodged her. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Perhaps it was a vigorous curiosity of the groundhog who has taken up residence underneath the garden shed nearby, or nudging inspections by the deer nuzzling for food. Perhaps it was simply the heaving of the earth below, variously freezing and thawing, swelling and contorting and tilting. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVVdL0xCvmVwG5Bp4sl8xgc_CyH5NlQqK35sqFQgCgdCjAZ2TkrEUfeerpPtxncfXIbuXyuZX_IW4sVxYCuDOOJyiZNmNxI-KRYfb8Nc0lqLOH3CGOLL1100fPwypZTyAhy1-Ztnl7e4EPqO7CqQhiad27e9LSmckfAAR-7FiUlXDB_Xffg4eqkv0GKw/s3600/IMG_0638.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3600" data-original-width="2392" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVVdL0xCvmVwG5Bp4sl8xgc_CyH5NlQqK35sqFQgCgdCjAZ2TkrEUfeerpPtxncfXIbuXyuZX_IW4sVxYCuDOOJyiZNmNxI-KRYfb8Nc0lqLOH3CGOLL1100fPwypZTyAhy1-Ztnl7e4EPqO7CqQhiad27e9LSmckfAAR-7FiUlXDB_Xffg4eqkv0GKw/s320/IMG_0638.jpeg" width="213" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">All that’s clear is that the illusion of stillness is simply that: illusion. Mary will testify that something is happening; something is moving – motion that provoked her own…<o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">…which provokes me to wonder what else is pulsing, pushing, heaving and nudging in the night, or nuzzling just beyond my sight?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mary, for the record, is once again righted – once more standing hospitably by, prayerfully beckoning whatever may…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">…to grow.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"</span><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Let it be to me..."</span><br /><br /></i></p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-54890658517568022242022-12-20T08:15:00.001-08:002022-12-20T09:52:33.931-08:00What is a “Real” Christmas Tree, Anyway?<div name="messageBodySection">I've never had a "real" Christmas tree - the kind found cut and bunched in a parking lot and sold by a church youth group or a scout troop or high school band as a fundraiser.<br /> <br /> As a child our family annually erected that most oppositional of alternatives, the aluminum tree, complete with circling color wheel light set off to the side. A silver tinsel-like tree glistening in the front window's sunlight by day, and filling the living room walls and ceiling with rotating colored spots by night like a silent holiday disco. I suppose part of me envied my friends with their sap-oozing, needle-dropping, pine-scenting trees. Allergies were our default rationale for the "artificial alternative", though I suspect expense and nuisance were the likelier reasons in a household with a tightly managed budget. Nonetheless, I loved our silver tree. I loved positioning its broom handle-like trunk in the base and assembling the tree, branch by branch, each inserted into its pre-drilled hole. In the weeks that followed I remember creeping into that magical space alone while family members busied themselves with other things. I would lie down on the floor and be mesmerized by the rotational sparkle. Wrapped gifts eventually occupied the space beneath the silvery boughs, but I wasn't drawn to shake the packages and fantasize about their contents. I was there to be caught up in the graceful pirouette of the tree, the swirling of the colored spots, and the motorized rotation of the wheel from blue to red to yellow to green. That was Christmas, then, to me - the tree and the songs, the candlelight Christmas Eve service and the Christmas morning drive to visit grandparents.<br /> <br /> In adulthood I have sustained the aversion to potential allergens and, with aluminum trees now out of fashion, have annually retrieved from the attic or basement or barn the green, more familiar style of artificial conifer. In more primitive times the decorating began with the ultimate tedium of stringing lights in some artful draping, before moving on to balls and stars and tinsel and bows, but having reached the zenith of holiday convenience and expedience, we now simply assemble the pre-lit layers and plug it in. Voila!<br /> <br /> There are yet, I'll admit, those occasional and wistful moments when a "real" tree sounds romantically appealing, but the thoughts are as fleeting as Christmas cookies. I rather like our representational specimen.<br /> <br /> That, and the sudden ambiguity about what is a "real" Christmas tree in the first place? Is a truncated, now lifeless cadaver of wood still a tree, and by extension any more "real" than a fabrication of bristly plastic and wires? Or cut, has it ceased to be a tree but become, instead, a product - a derivative like lumber or paper or utility pole or mulch? Is nature any more honored by a tree destroyed than by a tree imitated? Is the spiritual dimension of the symbol any better expressed by the evergreen turning brittle and brown and raining down on the floor than by the literally evergreen artificial branches from the box - or for that matter by its aluminum antecedents?<br /> <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5OOiq5bmMVpWwDoLNuiQ7N9cBDgdnJpq44beHmfQBOnD_9xoWf8RdfKbEklMbfbQ8tA3wq4_VJWUmoIAzXFyEW740GKxVCr5B3gDn9xRa9nBEzrltbpfCDFdBdSXdoBcuuoz7RiIvnz_PgpTZKtp-z0fM91mi-G56p8-KreT10FqwC4JzMN97BlOuGw/s3822/001F4039-DF9B-44C8-AA16-3A59D5AEFA35.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3822" data-original-width="1832" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5OOiq5bmMVpWwDoLNuiQ7N9cBDgdnJpq44beHmfQBOnD_9xoWf8RdfKbEklMbfbQ8tA3wq4_VJWUmoIAzXFyEW740GKxVCr5B3gDn9xRa9nBEzrltbpfCDFdBdSXdoBcuuoz7RiIvnz_PgpTZKtp-z0fM91mi-G56p8-KreT10FqwC4JzMN97BlOuGw/s320/001F4039-DF9B-44C8-AA16-3A59D5AEFA35.jpeg" width="153" /></a></div><br />Could it be, instead, that a "real" Christmas tree isn't defined by its material composition at all, but by the life it invites me to ponder, the creation it points beyond itself to celebrate, the birth it's lighting symbolizes and its decorating reveres? Could it be that the "realness" of the Christmas tree is what happens around it?<br /> <br /> Could it be that the Christmas tree is like a pancake which is less of a culinary star and more of a simple and unobtrusive conveyance for the sweetness that covers it?<br /> <br /> Resuming the Christmas playlist through which Bing and Perry and Andy and Nat serenade us into the season, and plugging in the lights on the tree and sidestepping the corgi snoozing on its skirt, I finger the adorning ornaments accumulated through the years and contemplate all the sweetness they convey.<br /> <br /> And it is real. Whatever all the accoutrements are made of, it's the sweetness - spiritually, relationally, sentimentally - that is real.<br /> <br /> I'll go outside for the trees.</div><div name="messageSignatureSection"> </div> Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-88071198370581280222022-11-06T10:47:00.000-08:002022-11-06T10:47:22.876-08:00Transitioning to the Cold and Quiet Season<div dir="ltr"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzVutNDypQnz7chbV5clckziDOQe8m_mdxvlY6FhbRcU-geG3YC1uDf7LeLluzscuXaFRAFYydvJXx1I6Zs0IwbgLWZ4wagJrSf2tG_fGav8-KCEQDFN_QOfA_o-GeTItLE9cRGXBZOXrZMxTbvxybuck6TkF8eIv78PCGFO9XKAyWr_MxJOD6_SJNpw/s4032/3F2539F8-22C3-44BD-97FE-3720AD229AEF.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzVutNDypQnz7chbV5clckziDOQe8m_mdxvlY6FhbRcU-geG3YC1uDf7LeLluzscuXaFRAFYydvJXx1I6Zs0IwbgLWZ4wagJrSf2tG_fGav8-KCEQDFN_QOfA_o-GeTItLE9cRGXBZOXrZMxTbvxybuck6TkF8eIv78PCGFO9XKAyWr_MxJOD6_SJNpw/s320/3F2539F8-22C3-44BD-97FE-3720AD229AEF.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: normal;">The kale is all that remains.</span></div> <p>The other garden beds have been cleared, raked, seeded with green manure, and covered with a layer of compost. The garlic cloves, in anticipation of summer, have been nestled under ground. The garden has been put to bed.</p> <p>Except for the kale. Like curled ribbons tying closed a wrapped gift, the rich green leaves stretch a line of residual giggles across the garden. Little horticultural alleluias punctuating the season's end.</p> <p>We should clip the lot of them - blanch them, squeeze away the excess water, and freeze them for later use. And we will. It's too good to waste; too nutritious to neglect. But we procrastinate, reticent to erase this last echo of summer, this resplendent beauty, this resounding testament to the sweetness the cold can evoke. Indeed, this hardy brassica is actually improved by the frost.</p> <p>It is not, after all, an abstract consideration. Despite the temperate days that have been the norm these autumn days, cold is in the forecast for later this week - lows in the teens and highs just barely above freezing. Cold, and the likelihood of measurable snow. Winter may toy with us, but it will eventually arrive full-throttle. And "sweetness" isn't the first descriptor that comes to mind with the shivers. We are more likely to resemble the Swiss chard that, until recently, joined the sturdier greens in the row - once proud and stately plants now browned, bent and brittled. Thus the kale, in resilient contrast, as inspiration. There, as the garden's final promenade of the season, their leafy curliness reorients, nourishes and beckons. The row stands as our own very green and present expression of Mary Oliver's observation that,</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPZqIcYTO-UixZntQqHwn6t7urJMzfLL18XEmIfQKaE5dCnkmVe62NlqmH7GJSnVdBInFKZTIOJ8hCHb85PXm-m4jWmj-Pc2zMyhf_UIlymkAsfSFU7euZr2sYAy9znh2-MYBWRWLCiczJw7HybpcZbBuisb_gnOnthYqQ7FI62O4971cWZ2sRFQc2fA/s4032/5BDE7E26-C941-4113-86F3-3DD26D09D679.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPZqIcYTO-UixZntQqHwn6t7urJMzfLL18XEmIfQKaE5dCnkmVe62NlqmH7GJSnVdBInFKZTIOJ8hCHb85PXm-m4jWmj-Pc2zMyhf_UIlymkAsfSFU7euZr2sYAy9znh2-MYBWRWLCiczJw7HybpcZbBuisb_gnOnthYqQ7FI62O4971cWZ2sRFQc2fA/w150-h200/5BDE7E26-C941-4113-86F3-3DD26D09D679.jpeg" width="150" /></a></div><p></p> "...<em>The world, moist and bountiful, calls to each of us to make a new and serious response. That's the big question, the one the world throws at you every morning. 'Here you are, alive. Would you like to make a comment</em>?'"<p></p> <p>The kale is all that remains in the garden. But it is enough to ask the question, and encourage the response of our sweet and curly living.</p><p></p></div>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-65050887032607744932022-09-30T05:22:00.002-07:002022-09-30T05:49:19.723-07:00To Be Here, Home<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 18.66666603088379px; margin: 15pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 26.133333206176758px;">The darkness dissipates as it does every morning, gradually, glacially, as the sun inched northward, relinquishing someone else's day in pursuit of our own. As I say, it is hardly novel; indeed, this quotidian movement is so ordinary as to routinely go unnoticed.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 18.66666603088379px; margin: 15pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 26.133333206176758px;">But not this morning. I sit out on the deck and allow it to unfold me as well as the morning. Yes, the sky - only moments ago full of stars - is clear and permits the emerging glow it's full and unobstructed stage. Yes, the air is crisp, befitting a new autumn day. But singular beauty is not what simultaneously settles and evokes me this emerging dawn. It is simply that I haven't seen it envelop this particular landscape in quite awhile - first, the silhouette of the trees, and then the rounded shape of the chicken coops; the outlines of the leaves in the nearby trees, and eventually the hints, the teasing foretastes, of autumn's golds and reds and yellow and bronze. The morning of a new day. The dawning of a new season. Now the rooster officially announces the fact.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 18.66666603088379px; margin: 15pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 26.133333206176758px;">We've been traveling.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 18.66666603088379px; margin: 15pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 26.133333206176758px;">First, there was grief work to attend. Emotions, consolations, ruminations, details; simultaneously carrying and being held. Physically we were elsewhere - emotionally, relationally, psychologically, too.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 18.66666603088379px; margin: 15pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 26.133333206176758px;">Home, then, for a rapid-fire turnaround during which we scarcely looked around before flying off again.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 18.66666603088379px; margin: 15pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 26.133333206176758px;">The hours and the stories and the laughter and the tears, the tasks and the memories and the new experiences forged, first, days and then weeks until finally, long after darkness had settled upon our traveling stamina and Taproot Garden, we arrived home last night. Our travels have been rich. Glorious, even. The distance and the privacy came at a good time. The celebrations we indulged, the landscapes on which we became drunk, the time together to both remember and dream. To simply "be".<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 18.66666603088379px; margin: 15pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 26.133333206176758px;">I listen now to the stirring chickens, already clamoring for release. I survey the garden from the deck's distance, wondering what gifts might still be on offer after such neglect. Mostly I simply receive the familiar and now beloved landscape, night's curtain raised, accept the sudden lump in my throat, and whisper a prayerful gratitude for being here.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 18.66666603088379px; margin: 15pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 26.133333206176758px;">Here.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 18.66666603088379px; margin: 15pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 26.133333206176758px;">As the poem of this day begins, I recall the observation with which Wendell Berry closes one of his own:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 18.66666603088379px; margin: 15pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 26.133333206176758px;">"<i>What we need is here.</i>"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 18.66666603088379px; margin: 15pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 26.133333206176758px;">Here.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 18.66666603088379px; margin: 15pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 26.133333206176758px;">It's good to be home.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQKKWF33Z1xVI9EV40eN_2qJorSWj4v_dGOZCBKrtsr05HAVnFO8h-KuAgu50UatO7E3uwiQBLnoAW_KqJx54IPd7gJt63uEX_FsbLGB9tmQYskXm6U0O5mpc2xpoD92F4zMMNAgrAb-w6HSXlwOEerEHdKCKxAd-zz6v86pBeQZct2ygqudwzlKmxkA/s3264/0707F72D-F6B0-46DB-B3B9-BBF4BE9F903B.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQKKWF33Z1xVI9EV40eN_2qJorSWj4v_dGOZCBKrtsr05HAVnFO8h-KuAgu50UatO7E3uwiQBLnoAW_KqJx54IPd7gJt63uEX_FsbLGB9tmQYskXm6U0O5mpc2xpoD92F4zMMNAgrAb-w6HSXlwOEerEHdKCKxAd-zz6v86pBeQZct2ygqudwzlKmxkA/w400-h300/0707F72D-F6B0-46DB-B3B9-BBF4BE9F903B.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br />Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-36062489059629230172022-09-04T07:06:00.001-07:002022-09-04T15:16:40.463-07:00Together, The Persons We’ve Become<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4vLRmjqe5n5G8dvwen2jNN7xSJQEDU18s7lneKgBFeHhL4WA239MhnED9GimplsjX52I3J4W_fL3B-vRtG5CfB1Crf6O6U8x-dDwYs7a-5lq-m8bhoAPNCzYEgT3UgAycJ21JQQaFmdbkja3DBrt7g78eHljIzTQtaXEmd0wupgBVTn5dVFJyWSHxYA/s4032/F9773047-7AAC-4525-BC27-FA3834833FFE.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4vLRmjqe5n5G8dvwen2jNN7xSJQEDU18s7lneKgBFeHhL4WA239MhnED9GimplsjX52I3J4W_fL3B-vRtG5CfB1Crf6O6U8x-dDwYs7a-5lq-m8bhoAPNCzYEgT3UgAycJ21JQQaFmdbkja3DBrt7g78eHljIzTQtaXEmd0wupgBVTn5dVFJyWSHxYA/w400-h300/F9773047-7AAC-4525-BC27-FA3834833FFE.heic" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The table is laden with leftover bottles of water, cans of tea, chips, nuts and plates. The chairs and tables have been folded and returned to the barn. The microphone cables have been coiled and the sound system ensconced again in its corner of the basement. The farmstead has quieted again to the usual crowing of the rooster and squawks of the hens and occasional grunts of the alpacas next door, and our routine shufflings here and there. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">And the enduring whispers of memory.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">On Friday evening, as this holiday weekend commenced, we hosted the opening gathering of Lori’s high school reunion. Memorabilia hung from tree branches, and animated tables. Music from the ‘70’s backgrounded conversations. An “In Memorium” display sobered one end of the displays, while nostalgia and news and food lubricated the rusty relationships. There, under the waning daylight and beside the fire pit, the flowers and the expansive sky, a remote season, once again, drew near. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Memories are mercurial – ephemeral even. “Do you recall…?” someone would ask from this corner of the gathering, and then another. And the answers varied. “Yes.” “No.” “Kinda.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Pictures helped. Artifacts nudged. For every anecdote reanimated, two were irretrievable. It has been a long time, and many roads have been traveled. Some things are dearly held, while others are best forgotten. We don’t agree on which is which.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The evening crackled with laughter and conversation, and stories etched into older faces. For a few hours we were younger again. Me, as well, for though these were not “my people”, rooted in a school and a community 1000 miles from my own, their memories reanimated my own; their rapport refreshed the faces in my heart of names and personalities with whom I had shared classrooms, built homecoming floats, made music…and a life. “Me,” along with the other spouses along for the ride. We, too, listened and told stories and found our places in narratives that preceded us. It was nourishing to inhabit, if only for an evening, deeper recesses of my beloved’s life in which I had had no part, and vicariously to retrace a few of the lines of my own. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">And to marvel afresh at the myriad fingers that shape us. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I have long found evocative the assertion of one of my teachers that, “We are all born <b><i>human</i></b>, but we become <b><i>persons</i></b> by our associations, our affiliations, our conflicts, our relationships.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">On Friday evening, it was good to touch our fingers, again, on the cooled forge that formed at least a part of the persons we’ve become. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">And to give thanks for the gift of those days, and this one.<o:p style="font-size: 11pt;"></o:p></p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-55165975783266475222022-08-17T20:13:00.005-07:002022-08-17T20:16:44.074-07:00The Raccoon Wars Resume<div dir="ltr"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgIuVNMTrRKi9r2yvgnA2f6F0bvHa02lOWiCqrLV28cJJHoDj-dViMLt17EBV_tDJvdmfWjIhFETLwpPaOVAYYetkGQbl0-W7Jac8NjJJsSQWFh4yFz20dPc7_8HdgeYmSY8zOAPql6Jgzpl5aavvMNpU8jQe1kQCTHrOdEj9PxrB9Kajd0PpOq-l7Nfg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_7133048438349592002" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgIuVNMTrRKi9r2yvgnA2f6F0bvHa02lOWiCqrLV28cJJHoDj-dViMLt17EBV_tDJvdmfWjIhFETLwpPaOVAYYetkGQbl0-W7Jac8NjJJsSQWFh4yFz20dPc7_8HdgeYmSY8zOAPql6Jgzpl5aavvMNpU8jQe1kQCTHrOdEj9PxrB9Kajd0PpOq-l7Nfg=w300-h400" width="300" /></a><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: 12px;">After a long season of detente, in which the raccoons constrained their foraging to the darkness while the chickens busied themselves in daylight, the peace was suddenly breached.</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: 12px;"> </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: 12px;">It has happened before; August seems to be the month when raccoons step out of bounds.</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: 12px;"> </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: 12px;">An early evening dinner guest recently stepped away from the table and into the sunroom to answer a call where she noticed through the window a chicken, clenched in the jaws at the opposite end of the ringtail, being dragged toward the fence line.</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: 12px;"> </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: 12px;">In broad daylight.</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: 12px;"> </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: 12px;">Our friend raised an alarm, and the group of us hurried outside accompanied by as much noise as we could generate.</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: 12px;"> </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: 12px;">The offending raccoon, concluding that safety was more desirable than supper, dropped the dazed hen and scurried into the woods.</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: 12px;"> </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: 12px;">The traumatized chicken survived, and eventually shook off the assault.</span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: 12px;"> </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: 12px;">A quick census of the flock, however, revealed that this had not been the first incursion. </span><span face="".SFUI-Regular"" style="font-size: 12px;"> </span></div><div dir="ltr">
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">War plans were subsequently drawn and set in motion. </span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">The battles, in the ensuing days, grew hot and then cold. Escalating and then briefly calming, they would quickly escalate anew. We are now three weeks into the conflict, and though it’s hard to know who has the upper hand, I can say that my efforts have not been for naught. In keeping with my larger vocational urgings, I have evangelistically introduced 25 raccoon souls to Jesus. </span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">So to speak. </span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">I’ll spare you the details of the baptism. And I have every reason to believe that the bushes - if not the fields - remain “white for harvest.” </span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">So I continue. So I remain vigilant. It’s not that I have any particular prejudice against raccoons - and harbor no peculiar animosity. I completely respect the fact that every life needs and deserves its nourishment. </span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">Circle of life and food chain and all that. “Nature red in tooth and claw,” as the poet described it.</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">I simply require that predators look for their sustenance somewhere other than in our chicken yard. I have taken the chickens to raise and tend and protect. It is a commitment I have made to their keeping, and I intend to keep it. The raccoons are welcome to the rabbits which, this year, frolic in abundance. There is a veritable carpet of bunnies these summer months, and the bunnies have been known to commit yet another farmstead sin of sneaking into the garden. Rabbits I can do without. I have proffered no promises to them or on their behalf. </span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">But the chickens are another matter. The chickens I will protect. Should the raccoons return to their nocturnal normal I will happily reinstitute the armistice. </span></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">In the meantime, however, I am vigilant - set, baited and watching. </span></p><p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular"">Amen.</span></p><p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span></p><p style="font-family: "System Font"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14.3px;"><span face="".SFUI-Regular""></span></p></div>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-61298332629175537762022-08-03T12:50:00.003-07:002022-08-03T12:50:57.393-07:00Sweet Collaboration <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwWHyrKBcifJ_LUITJpvoTkO1R7Hfozfq_skHY62NeBEqiM1mCTQEGMhDue4mlRKKa2CBqw2NZB_-Mh_r8F3svLwzyFgjOQB5YsD-mA3Nfi5J9EQIqNby2CPzDV0aRfO72JAm3MwC6w2yobGgHxVVzlA9kfNxh0_jhVE1DRnWyG3iE66iI1ukXtVXjZA/s891/47196C6F-9528-4AD8-935F-91D88DAB52F5_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="743" data-original-width="891" height="334" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwWHyrKBcifJ_LUITJpvoTkO1R7Hfozfq_skHY62NeBEqiM1mCTQEGMhDue4mlRKKa2CBqw2NZB_-Mh_r8F3svLwzyFgjOQB5YsD-mA3Nfi5J9EQIqNby2CPzDV0aRfO72JAm3MwC6w2yobGgHxVVzlA9kfNxh0_jhVE1DRnWyG3iE66iI1ukXtVXjZA/w400-h334/47196C6F-9528-4AD8-935F-91D88DAB52F5_1_201_a.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>“<i>How hard could it be</i>?” I wondered on more than one occasion as I set up the beehives last year. “<i>Bees have been tending to themselves for thousands of years</i>.” <o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">Despite the latter observation’s affirmative truth, the answer to the former question is, “<i>More than one might think.”</i><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">I learned that the hard way. Purchasing two “packages” of bees and setting them up for housekeeping around the back of the prairie, I apparently went out of my way to be inhospitable. Within a month one of the colonies was gone – dead or merely departed I couldn’t ascertain. I did my best to nurture and cajole the remaining colony through the summer and fall, and with the outer reaches of my microscopically limited knowledge did what I could to prepare it for winter. Through the course of those bitter months I would pass by the lonely hive, neither seeing nor hearing any sign of life. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsDux3aSIC8LeUkx_gTPizKOU1knc3Nabvu18A1Xs917--J7qKErMFzhlmFaqtUSGL1M-6YSXj8TCNBw1b1lDZEYnNRXUCJQZdfu62v6_fAOQfVLUTozfT0ZXzQCHsmj9k185Gd4eZv9YCOOikmsT8Z_kGudfPwllxzxmarEI0j0VAXo8eDRhZZ5nEyg/s2016/71FD8840-31E8-4E3C-B1CC-BE97DE7D2455.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsDux3aSIC8LeUkx_gTPizKOU1knc3Nabvu18A1Xs917--J7qKErMFzhlmFaqtUSGL1M-6YSXj8TCNBw1b1lDZEYnNRXUCJQZdfu62v6_fAOQfVLUTozfT0ZXzQCHsmj9k185Gd4eZv9YCOOikmsT8Z_kGudfPwllxzxmarEI0j0VAXo8eDRhZZ5nEyg/s320/71FD8840-31E8-4E3C-B1CC-BE97DE7D2455.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>On the foundation of this astonishing failure, I began the new year by ordering three new colonies for springtime. I would execute a “reboot.” As winter faded, I made the sad journey to the apiary to dismantle the remaining hive, only to lift the lid and find a burgeoning colony, happily undertaking a new season. That one, soon joined by the three I had newly ordered, and eventually joined by the two successful splits from that overwintered miracle. The swollen population meant that August honey extraction season approached riding the momentum of six healthy hives. Not all would be ready to share their stores, of course, but some were extending their hand. Questions arose. We consulted teachers and mentors and YouTube videos. We purchased equipment. We sanitized and organized and asked a few more questions. Finally, when we could think of or justify no more impedimenting delays, we loaded up the Club Car, gathered the promisingly loaded frames, encouraged the clinging bees to stay behind, and returned to the processing area we had laboriously staged, and got to work. <o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">Yesterday.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">It will likely take years to master the uncapping knife, but we got the job done. It took awhile to finesse the electric extractor, but we eventually fell into a routine. We spun, we drained, we strained the viscous gold. We licked our fingers when we thought the other wasn’t looking, and we filled bottle after glorious bottle until we closed the bucket’s honey gate for the final time. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">And then, surveying the 52 pounds of bottled harvest, we smiled. It’s hardly “free”, this liquid largesse. The dollars invested in beekeeping have been surprising; the labor demanded has been as exhausting as it has been fascinating and disciplining. And yet the abundant generosity of it all is a wonder to me. Bees, themselves, were already a wonder. A “super-organism” that functions enviably and organically as a whole rather than a collection of individuals, the hive is a throbbing body of specialization and efficiency; nursing, guarding, cleaning, gathering, reproducing, sustaining and monitoring. And then the honey. Honey manifests the bees’ alchemical accomplishment of spinning, Rumpelstiltskin-like, straw into gold; transforming the myriad pollens and nectars into a life-supporting pantry and medicine cabinet. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">That happens to be delectably sweet.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">A friend asked how the bees feel about being robbed of the fruits of their labors. I can’t imagine that they are thrilled, but they acquiesce. Industrious, they’ve already gotten about their business of making more. And we will help – planting more flowers for the long term, filling sugar water feeders to augment their efforts in the near term, attending to their health and preparing their space for winter. It’s a partnership, after all; a reciprocity that nourishes and delights us both – the colony in the hive, and the colony in the house; sweeter for the collaboration.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuQ89UrMFXnjyKpwPL5-qhyrX9hOhp3GC3JRNHE4WtaFTOy_nlsJrZHDlVgzBa_GuQ5jG2JYSUhK67Ph59QfaMBRK7au4LtUGIgvSNoeePS8Qe1BIbfR7VbhkAyj6o2BXWJReigRuK_g7MtyUmINZ09TSkGxe5F6bC0dyQ-QiTS1QSAnrGB0ej3qY6eA/s4032/01E3385D-2FB2-4200-97C0-27884FCD4203.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuQ89UrMFXnjyKpwPL5-qhyrX9hOhp3GC3JRNHE4WtaFTOy_nlsJrZHDlVgzBa_GuQ5jG2JYSUhK67Ph59QfaMBRK7au4LtUGIgvSNoeePS8Qe1BIbfR7VbhkAyj6o2BXWJReigRuK_g7MtyUmINZ09TSkGxe5F6bC0dyQ-QiTS1QSAnrGB0ej3qY6eA/s320/01E3385D-2FB2-4200-97C0-27884FCD4203.heic" width="240" /></a><br /><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-79794467690229633652022-07-14T19:28:00.004-07:002022-07-15T11:27:33.320-07:00Garden Mentors, Shining in Their Way<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDNC9d-7Q-uDAwIJmNwc9dEy7Kea6WaXtguCNtY-XJZ6k772yGlIQsPZmO0UCbpgB8uDFvUPZ7zPlKtrO5MssEl6CHd5P8cwKHEfAcT6vu8AEYXztNX_RiOKVkovdLYwsEPOwq2nFktrUIC7i4mBCPEbncLQzk26kT9-5Fi5jLasQqVsIffCGhoASnyQ/s4032/9901B6B3-6B77-47F8-AE85-739BEE67E47A.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDNC9d-7Q-uDAwIJmNwc9dEy7Kea6WaXtguCNtY-XJZ6k772yGlIQsPZmO0UCbpgB8uDFvUPZ7zPlKtrO5MssEl6CHd5P8cwKHEfAcT6vu8AEYXztNX_RiOKVkovdLYwsEPOwq2nFktrUIC7i4mBCPEbncLQzk26kT9-5Fi5jLasQqVsIffCGhoASnyQ/w400-h300/9901B6B3-6B77-47F8-AE85-739BEE67E47A.heic" width="400" /></a></div> <span face="-apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol"" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 12px; text-align: center;"><span face="-apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol"" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdbFPK-ZBl-ToJr7tre3miX5lG2oNkYEIs2hOJmLvaFuStduH-OZfxS10dzV5MBHwfBWuzOoto7BEneM8Mv73EFm9fEUy5oCzP4Y0oopwhVwJJjsoP3Lu18OvAOBiWM--_BcNFH3ygZ2R0D2IK8c81-RVkLrOTXstpO4ePUL_Ybpljgv-RAEUDns821w/s4032/BC88A501-2E78-4575-B3BB-B5A023A08E74.heic" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdbFPK-ZBl-ToJr7tre3miX5lG2oNkYEIs2hOJmLvaFuStduH-OZfxS10dzV5MBHwfBWuzOoto7BEneM8Mv73EFm9fEUy5oCzP4Y0oopwhVwJJjsoP3Lu18OvAOBiWM--_BcNFH3ygZ2R0D2IK8c81-RVkLrOTXstpO4ePUL_Ybpljgv-RAEUDns821w/w199-h265/BC88A501-2E78-4575-B3BB-B5A023A08E74.heic" width="199" /></a></span></div><span face="-apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol"" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Sunflowers were in our imagination this year as we filled greenhouse trays with seeds. The infatuation paired nicely with our resolve to scale back on vegetables. Having finally comprehended that we aren’t growing to feed an army, we mentally allocated more space for flowers. We’ve added bees to the farmstead enterprise and they would certainly benefit from additional flora, and while we still had plenty of vegetables in mind for the season, the reapportionment of garden rows would better align with the fact that it is just the two of us and miscellaneous dinner guests consuming the harvest. We would still be over-supplied.</span></span><p></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Sunflowers weren’t the only flowers we seeded. There was a floral diversity, but sunflowers were at the heart of our efforts. Lots of them. Lots of varieties of them. “<i>Evening Sun</i>,” “<i>Chocolate Cherry</i>,” “<i>Earthwalker</i>,” “<i>Panache</i>,” “<i>Mammoth Grey Striped</i>,” “<i>Hopi Black Dye</i>,” “<i>Short Stuff</i>,” among others. There are, perhaps, a hundred of them now transplanted into rows - a number to rival the tomatoes.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol"; font-size: 12px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxDVSOz2ChO397gHUQw_HEfhAU6Ge7GY52pfpORQz4_eC90GZ16HpcerOPwgg6l70W-U7pGTQXduRHU6yN1KGOxiJ8EP_lJ_L4uUUjKi_a5COxF8Blh8UA5GNdgF28p-s00QH2FYHApTwy5t1dnMqiNfHp-rx2VaWsMEDcUuufk43Pcx-Ctsh6lL_xQ/s4032/59610C22-B742-416B-9C84-16837A38F457.heic" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxDVSOz2ChO397gHUQw_HEfhAU6Ge7GY52pfpORQz4_eC90GZ16HpcerOPwgg6l70W-U7pGTQXduRHU6yN1KGOxiJ8EP_lJ_L4uUUjKi_a5COxF8Blh8UA5GNdgF28p-s00QH2FYHApTwy5t1dnMqiNfHp-rx2VaWsMEDcUuufk43Pcx-Ctsh6lL_xQ/s320/59610C22-B742-416B-9C84-16837A38F457.heic" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">But why? </span></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">To be sure, they are striking in their Seussian quirkiness. They stretch and sprawl and tower above it all. We like the fact that they reseed themselves and return, year after year. Presently, we like their resplendent mindfulness of the people of Ukraine as they reel under the onslaught of murderously colonizing tyranny, but their hapless plight couldn’t have been on our minds when we ordered the seeds. Sunflowers are a food source not only for humans but pollinators alike - an adequate justification even if there were no others. They are heliotropic - meaning they seek the light - which might be inspiration enough in this shade-throwing world. Too many of us politicians, preachers, commentators and citizens behave in ways betraying too much affinity for the night.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol"; font-size: 12px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-u9Xf2hry2B14nz38fNHtUGk2sIqEzuFM7DIUzSgroJZbbC3hQ_ZjoAochO0hnkta5PXct6wEHdLPJu34Qdsa4k-yjE4RM0mdgVlUu0tZ7dQzeU8Ouai9oSTVFH8L9UObnHIgY_oXOFGXW8sO8zr95Rb0O_4HFB4B8lwfjddOs8UQAFz9KC7bMvgd7A/s4032/14D3A1F0-1E42-4655-B8B8-3EBB42CEB731.heic" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-u9Xf2hry2B14nz38fNHtUGk2sIqEzuFM7DIUzSgroJZbbC3hQ_ZjoAochO0hnkta5PXct6wEHdLPJu34Qdsa4k-yjE4RM0mdgVlUu0tZ7dQzeU8Ouai9oSTVFH8L9UObnHIgY_oXOFGXW8sO8zr95Rb0O_4HFB4B8lwfjddOs8UQAFz9KC7bMvgd7A/s320/14D3A1F0-1E42-4655-B8B8-3EBB42CEB731.heic" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">But surely there is something more.</span></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I rather think, in addition to their other virtues, our enthrallment has something to do with the sunflower’s unabashed, full-throated but unpretentious openness. Their face is like an open hand - petals extended and exposed without precaution. There is no timidity, simply the forthright precocity that seems to say, “Here I am. Welcome.” </span></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Early in life we are commonly taught, “Don’t talk to strangers” - wise counsel for vulnerable children - but unfortunately too few of us outgrow the caution. I'm not immune. More times than I want to admit I "pass by on the other side of the road" like the foils in Jesus' parable of the Good Samaritan. The result, of course, is a collective of adults malnourished by sameness and suffocated by a seduction of safety that is neither tenable nor safe.</span></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The sunflowers, by contrast, are unperturbed and unprotected. They are simply open. There is no artifice or opposition; simply the uninhibited, fully exposed offer of themselves to the sun…and beyond. </span></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">In brightness. In beauty. In seed. In stately grandeur.</span></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">A face, fully offered. A hand, open wide and hospitably proffered. Content to be, or be given. And received.</span></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Whimsically, winsomely open.<br />Turning toward the light.</span></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">We could do worse by way of mentors.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW3xlbANiMYyUdu_ezWoh2o1PknpzND-XP8b3vXhpayOGN4hMXYE6tEkbNG0qAk1tpKaNDCE1HO5-IfFI5HJsDDQooo3PxFVO2l5r6Lj01HiCvL3lKFbjWhMv2QNbG1EMiTLsrk2NYvmbjcTYkomidF23q9jym_JHGXBBGzyIdUHWjBJuMFi_OTissnA/s4032/1841D25D-E1D6-48B3-8C97-776C0081F532.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW3xlbANiMYyUdu_ezWoh2o1PknpzND-XP8b3vXhpayOGN4hMXYE6tEkbNG0qAk1tpKaNDCE1HO5-IfFI5HJsDDQooo3PxFVO2l5r6Lj01HiCvL3lKFbjWhMv2QNbG1EMiTLsrk2NYvmbjcTYkomidF23q9jym_JHGXBBGzyIdUHWjBJuMFi_OTissnA/w300-h400/1841D25D-E1D6-48B3-8C97-776C0081F532.heic" width="300" /></a></div></div><p></p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3863695199101265937.post-27063884545644590412022-07-03T20:07:00.002-07:002022-07-03T20:14:07.704-07:00Blessedly in the Midst of It All<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUmYGLYxm6su1zPbqj-PcRYMnaUCdnf3pAiA_K6ebpO7ohTjRfyUJsGVT1Q2EfhW4Rn1PnDF7-Vl57auFzw5S04n7PeI3whSepGdee5D8rLCuztyuttqVJbvjI5C7KK8VMEaDssvYayxtXSxn90iTCNpRbr9bm2UoLzeZvieHS8jgu0LWuSvDfdaHGBQ/s4032/DE98C83B-2BBE-49A1-9CA5-4146EC3525A2.heic" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUmYGLYxm6su1zPbqj-PcRYMnaUCdnf3pAiA_K6ebpO7ohTjRfyUJsGVT1Q2EfhW4Rn1PnDF7-Vl57auFzw5S04n7PeI3whSepGdee5D8rLCuztyuttqVJbvjI5C7KK8VMEaDssvYayxtXSxn90iTCNpRbr9bm2UoLzeZvieHS8jgu0LWuSvDfdaHGBQ/s320/DE98C83B-2BBE-49A1-9CA5-4146EC3525A2.heic" width="240" /></a></div> It was, ostensibly, to enjoy the wildflowers. We had spent the better part of the day working companionably outdoors – Lori supporting the burgeoning tomato bushes, while I mowed the grass. And, indeed, as I had trimmed the path around the prairie, near the apiary, and then back around toward the house, the eruption of wildflowers had truthfully caught my attention. <p></p><p>Finishing, then, the more detailed grooming, we boarded the utility cart for a look around. The day had been sunny and blue, with cottony tufts of intermittent clouds; warm but not hot, with gentle breezes replacing the blustery winds of recent weeks. It had been pleasant enough and satisfying work of the sort that makes for easy sleep and contented dreams. </p><p>And as we crept our way around the pathways, the wildflowers were truly joyful – bergamot and blackeyed Susans, sunflowers and verbena, along with others whose names I need to learn. The bees should be very happy at all the culinary options.</p><p>But as satisfying as was the ride – as lovely as were the flowers – the richer, still lovelier comprehension, was the sense of awe-filled appreciation that this is the anchoring place of our lives. Yes, we have brought our hands and our souls to this place; yes, we have broken and sowed, we have planted and opened; yes, our fingerprints are here. But I will be so bold as to assert that our efforts have served to magnify rather than stifle the personality of this piece of earth. We have resisted the arrogance of forcing it to be something that it’s not, but have endeavored to hear its voice and amplify it.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi809p-8fOX7Z8AbGHaEbTGna8-MdzCSA-LNk3q0_1Hi4Ym9nqHginQiSxejaKO_dpvJO6cva0lrfzANbXnz6HbN8Cd2dim8MCcyBy2oGZxIt_pBSKuoqjNPbKVDcDuv-1o-gGtjfylivthHGZe-RGONUhR0dX1cdFUp2vr5CTSZNjBFkMW89bmsZ5SqQ/s4032/439083DB-A0D2-459D-B65E-BD0A80675223.heic" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi809p-8fOX7Z8AbGHaEbTGna8-MdzCSA-LNk3q0_1Hi4Ym9nqHginQiSxejaKO_dpvJO6cva0lrfzANbXnz6HbN8Cd2dim8MCcyBy2oGZxIt_pBSKuoqjNPbKVDcDuv-1o-gGtjfylivthHGZe-RGONUhR0dX1cdFUp2vr5CTSZNjBFkMW89bmsZ5SqQ/s320/439083DB-A0D2-459D-B65E-BD0A80675223.heic" width="240" /></a></div>And along the way it has nourished us. I’m speaking of more than the garden and the orchard. These several acres have fed more than our bodies. It has enlarged and enriched our understanding of self, grounded our relationship to the “moreness” of creation, and humbled our assumptions surrounding our place in the world. We are, to put it simply, simpler, and richer. We are increasingly shed of our presumptions and pretensions – learnings, the irony of which are not lost on me this “Independence Day” weekend. <p></p><p>Amidst a holiday that has come to be a self-indulgent bath in self-adjudged exceptionalism – that we, out of all the nations of the world and history, have managed to get it “right”; or at the very least, are the best among the alternatives (an argument that is at once gratuitously delusional and aspirationally pathetic) – we alternatively take a moment to admire a wildflower, pluck a wild blackberry and giggle at the burst in our mouths of its undeserved sweetness, and simply give thanks not for any possession of it, but for the generosity it unself-consciously tips our way. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7uFFxxOLLMfm60RLD0Uwid8-Gp2zI893pV7bj7etDNd7qB5UclEpf60WkWc26tOpYyDjtm3i7AkuDUoxp87cu38m3m788tR70hHQLJUr21KimIHSccFFtm9C5MTmjKjg3ujdtYoybVvaXYP6E1BgvvbQFNXh_cCi3ZCy4B21inleUN1EaB1cZdd_hRQ/s4032/56EAFE6B-CF96-41AB-94C5-76025EACEA78.heic" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7uFFxxOLLMfm60RLD0Uwid8-Gp2zI893pV7bj7etDNd7qB5UclEpf60WkWc26tOpYyDjtm3i7AkuDUoxp87cu38m3m788tR70hHQLJUr21KimIHSccFFtm9C5MTmjKjg3ujdtYoybVvaXYP6E1BgvvbQFNXh_cCi3ZCy4B21inleUN1EaB1cZdd_hRQ/s320/56EAFE6B-CF96-41AB-94C5-76025EACEA78.heic" width="240" /></a></div>The celebration around the farmstead this weekend, then, is not about “rockets red glare” or some faux narrative about religious freedom or the trumpeting of supposed high and noble ideals. Those, after all, are mere self-congratulatory fictions we perpetuate in order to elevate our national ego and sell more firecrackers and bottle rockets. Having forsaken the beauty of community and the mechanics of cooperation, we collectively are left to settle for the fetish of "independence", a hollow and terminal alternative. <p></p><p>Our celebration, instead, will seek to be a quiet and grateful wonder at the privilege of belonging - that we are a petal on a flower on a stem on a root in a soil that is no respecter of boundaries or borders; partners as busy contributing as receiving; speakers, but mostly listeners to the rustling, the stirring, the emerging and the blooming. </p><p>And as darkness closes the day, "oohing" less at the fireworks in the sky than the fireflies in the field, we give<br /><br /><br /> thanks that we get to be connected to - interdependent with - it all. </p>Tim Diebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04664708796755480029noreply@blogger.com0