The virtual campfire is moving to South Carolina for a week. If I have an opportunity to lay hands on an internet connection I'll post, otherwise....
if you're lucky enough to be at the beach, you're lucky enough.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
speech
"... we seemingly tolerate a rising level of violence that ignores our common humanity and our claims to civilization alike. We calmly accept newspaper reports of civilian slaughter in far-off lands. We glorify killing on movie and television screens and call it entertainment. We make it easy for men of all shades of sanity to acquire whatever weapons and ammunition they desire.
Too often we honor swagger and bluster and wielders of force; too often we excuse those who are willing to build their own lives on the shattered dreams of others. Some Americans who preach non-violence abroad fail to practice it here at home. Some who accuse others of inciting riots have by their own conduct invited them.
Some look for scapegoats, others look for conspiracies, but this much is clear: violence breeds violence, repression brings retaliation, and only a cleansing of our whole society can remove this sickness from our soul.
For there is another kind of violence, slower but just as deadly destructive as the shot or the bomb in the night. This is the violence of institutions; indifference and inaction and slow decay. This is the violence that afflicts the poor, that poisons relations between men because their skin has different colors. This is the slow destruction of a child by hunger, and schools without books and homes without heat in the winter.
"...When you teach a man to hate and fear his brother, when you teach that he is a lesser man because of his color or his beliefs or the policies he pursues, when you teach that those who differ from you threaten your freedom or your job or your family, then you also learn to confront others not as fellow citizens but as enemies, to be met not with cooperation but with conquest; to be subjugated and mastered.
We learn, at the last, to look at our brothers as aliens, men with whom we share a city, but not a community; men bound to us in common dwelling, but not in common effort. We learn to share only a common fear, only a common desire to retreat from each other, only a common impulse to meet disagreement with force. For all this, there are no final answers.
Yet we know what we must do. It is to achieve true justice among our fellow citizens. The question is not what programs we should seek to enact. The question is whether we can find in our own midst and in our own hearts that leadership of humane purpose that will recognize the terrible truths of our existence.
We must admit the vanity of our false distinctions among men and learn to find our own advancement in the search for the advancement of others. We must admit in ourselves that our own children's future cannot be built on the misfortunes of others. We must recognize that this short life can neither be ennobled or enriched by hatred or revenge.
Our lives on this planet are too short and the work to be done too great to let this spirit flourish any longer in our land. Of course we cannot vanquish it with a program, nor with a resolution.
But we can perhaps remember, if only for a time, that those who live with us are our brothers, that they share with us the same short moment of life; that they seek, as do we, nothing but the chance to live out their lives in purpose and in happiness, winning what satisfaction and fulfillment they can.
Surely, this bond of common faith, this bond of common goal, can begin to teach us something. Surely, we can learn, at least, to look at those around us as fellow men, and surely we can begin to work a little harder to bind up the wounds among us and to become in our own hearts brothers and countrymen once again."
Excerpts from a speech made by Robert F. Kennedy in 1968
Too often we honor swagger and bluster and wielders of force; too often we excuse those who are willing to build their own lives on the shattered dreams of others. Some Americans who preach non-violence abroad fail to practice it here at home. Some who accuse others of inciting riots have by their own conduct invited them.
Some look for scapegoats, others look for conspiracies, but this much is clear: violence breeds violence, repression brings retaliation, and only a cleansing of our whole society can remove this sickness from our soul.
For there is another kind of violence, slower but just as deadly destructive as the shot or the bomb in the night. This is the violence of institutions; indifference and inaction and slow decay. This is the violence that afflicts the poor, that poisons relations between men because their skin has different colors. This is the slow destruction of a child by hunger, and schools without books and homes without heat in the winter.
"...When you teach a man to hate and fear his brother, when you teach that he is a lesser man because of his color or his beliefs or the policies he pursues, when you teach that those who differ from you threaten your freedom or your job or your family, then you also learn to confront others not as fellow citizens but as enemies, to be met not with cooperation but with conquest; to be subjugated and mastered.
We learn, at the last, to look at our brothers as aliens, men with whom we share a city, but not a community; men bound to us in common dwelling, but not in common effort. We learn to share only a common fear, only a common desire to retreat from each other, only a common impulse to meet disagreement with force. For all this, there are no final answers.
Yet we know what we must do. It is to achieve true justice among our fellow citizens. The question is not what programs we should seek to enact. The question is whether we can find in our own midst and in our own hearts that leadership of humane purpose that will recognize the terrible truths of our existence.
We must admit the vanity of our false distinctions among men and learn to find our own advancement in the search for the advancement of others. We must admit in ourselves that our own children's future cannot be built on the misfortunes of others. We must recognize that this short life can neither be ennobled or enriched by hatred or revenge.
Our lives on this planet are too short and the work to be done too great to let this spirit flourish any longer in our land. Of course we cannot vanquish it with a program, nor with a resolution.
But we can perhaps remember, if only for a time, that those who live with us are our brothers, that they share with us the same short moment of life; that they seek, as do we, nothing but the chance to live out their lives in purpose and in happiness, winning what satisfaction and fulfillment they can.
Surely, this bond of common faith, this bond of common goal, can begin to teach us something. Surely, we can learn, at least, to look at those around us as fellow men, and surely we can begin to work a little harder to bind up the wounds among us and to become in our own hearts brothers and countrymen once again."
Excerpts from a speech made by Robert F. Kennedy in 1968
Sunday, July 13, 2008
The happiness of blueberries
Thanks to a "check this out" email from a friend I found a place locally to pick blueberries. To give you an idea of how ignorant I am about blueberries, I didn't realize they even grew in these parts. I thought they required cooler, drier climates than the hell-hot and humid western part of the Commonwealth. But grow they do, and this particular pick-your-own farm gave me an opportunity on two different occasions last week to experience the joy of picking fresh, ripe, and sweet blueberries. These are NOT the berries you get in the plastic clamshells at the supermarket...these are wonderful.
When we first began picking the blueberries last week the first few that landed in the buckets made a distinct "plunk" sound. If you have ever read the children's book "Blueberries for Sal" you know that the "kerplink, kerplank, kerplunk" sound is part of the story. We were happy to discover that blueberries do in fact make this sound.
So last week turned into "puttin' up" week. "Puttin' Up" is what my mom used to say about preparing any food for long-term storage. When I was young we put up corn, peas, green beans, strawberries, peaches, and applesauce. Lord did we put up applesauce. Gallons of the stuff.
After making a blueberry/lemon bread (deeeee-lishious!), and a blueberry/apple pie (with apples from my own tree), and after T1, T2 and I snacked on these things till we were blue in the face, I got really resourceful and decided to freeze the remaining blueberries.
I also have June apples of my very own for the first time since I planted my four apple trees five or six years ago. I have already made and frozen enough applesauce to satisfy even MY cravings for it, and we still have way more apples than I can use, so I'm trying to think creatively.
Which brings me to a roundabout way to my point. My children are seeing first hand the source of some of their foods. They actually picked the blueberries with me, and helped wash them. I've been sending them out to our apple trees with a bucket to pick apples, and teaching them how to tell the ripe ones from the not-ready-yet ones. They are watching and learning as I bake with these things and store them for future use. They are also watching The Reenactor grow the pickling cucumbers for his not-ready-for-a-blue-ribbon (yet) pickles. And they've helped him can those as well. What used to be a fact of life for most families (spending summers preserving fresh foods for winter) is becoming a rare pasttime. Yet it is so rewarding. I felt so peaceful in that blueberry patch...picking, listening to my children talk, and tasting fresh sweet berries. Here's my point, if we could find ways to re-introduce more children to the process of growing food, they might have a greater appreciation for what they consume, and the precious resource we have in agriculture. Blueberries don't grow on grocery store shelves, they grow on bushes. If it freezes too late in the spring--no blueberries. If the birds get to them first---you are left with quite literally the leftovers. Growing fresh foods doesn't just happen...it takes time, patience, and the blessings of the right amount of sunshine and rain. But once you see and taste the difference they bring to your kitchen, you are hooked.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
A story by my niece
With apologies to Sgt@Arms for not getting her permission to reprint this first, I was looking for a way to recognize my mother's birthday today and found this in my closet o'family history. It is really a nice memory of a lovely day. It won't mean much to any of you outside our family, but for the rest of us, enjoy!
*********
July 5, 1993
by Jenny
It was one of those perfect sunny summer days when everything just falls into place.
The leafy green breeze gently blew our scattered family in for a perfect landing around the Matriarch’s patriotic dinner table.
Lunch at one o’clock.
Eleven place settings in red, white and blue.
Tiny flags and Queen Anne’s lace in a vase in the middle.
Steam rising off platters and piles of Grandma food: Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn on the cob, home-made bread, lemonade.
“These green beans were still on the vine this time yesterday,” and the last bowl was placed and we sat.
Heads bowed, mouths dripping, we joined hands and waited for a blessing.
Papaw looked around at his children and theirs for a long moment...and began...
“Very seldom are all of my children and grandchildren all around the same table at once.
This means a lot to your mother and I -- we really appreciate it.
I think today we’ll just have a silent prayer.”
The breathless silence that followed almost stopped my beating heart.
We were all very grateful indeed when he uttered “Amen.”
Such a feast, such a feast! Feast Feast Feast Feast!
We dined and we drank and the sisters all giggled,
We feverishly swallowed and sipped.
We chewed and we talked and reloaded our plates
While Grandma told the same story twice.
Then she looked out over her half-moon spectacles and picked the slowest eater
“Edward!” she said, “What do you need?”
“Nothing right now - I’m fine.”
“Do you need some more chicken? Coleslaw? Applesauce?”
“No thanks, Mom, I’m fine.”
“Pass this chicken down to Edward,” she decided. “Jennifer! What do you need? Green beans? Corn?”
“Doing alright down here, Grandma.”
“Pass these beans down to Jenny,” she said.
My arm twisted, I loaded more beans on my plate and forced them into my more than content stomach.
The meal went on, and on, bowls emptying one by one, plates slowly clearing.
I leaned back, belly up, in my creaking chair.
We were all so full our eyeballs were bulging when Grandma called, “Gooseberry pie?”
The rest of the day we were scattered about on couches and hammocks and rockers in the shade
Trying to get comfortable around our cross-eyed stomachs.
It wasn’t too hot, the green breeze sighed on, and we chatted and read and slept.
The kids set off fireworks when the sun was setting, all golden around the apple trees.
No one thought about supper, but instead a projector was brought down and dusted off.
And with a box of 8 millimeters and a crabby old screen, we sat hushed in the couch and the floor, we watched...
Aunt Alice, three years old, with two braids down her back, rode her tricycle up and down a sunny sidewalk, post WWII. Papaw swept her off her trike and into the air, and laughing, caught her again. Grandma appeared, young and embarrassed, and led little Alice inside.
More films were to be shown. Liz’s first birthday, Grandpa Ed at the post office, Robinette family reunions, Fourth of July - ‘51 - this was saved for last. We loaded it on, and it flickered and flipped. We taped it and tried it again and were taken to July 4th, fourty-two years past.
It was a lawn in Niangua, Missouri, decked out with Adirondack chairs and flags, in the sun.
Long dead, dearly missed old timers peered and waved at us from their yard, all smiley and lively and young.
They just waved and smiled, so happy on the Fourth.
A day for their family, for friends and food, and fireworks.
A day for our family too.
Forever,
Amen.
*July 4th fell on a Sunday in 1993, so the celebration was put off until the 5th so church activities wouldn’t be messed up.
*********
July 5, 1993
by Jenny
It was one of those perfect sunny summer days when everything just falls into place.
The leafy green breeze gently blew our scattered family in for a perfect landing around the Matriarch’s patriotic dinner table.
Lunch at one o’clock.
Eleven place settings in red, white and blue.
Tiny flags and Queen Anne’s lace in a vase in the middle.
Steam rising off platters and piles of Grandma food: Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn on the cob, home-made bread, lemonade.
“These green beans were still on the vine this time yesterday,” and the last bowl was placed and we sat.
Heads bowed, mouths dripping, we joined hands and waited for a blessing.
Papaw looked around at his children and theirs for a long moment...and began...
“Very seldom are all of my children and grandchildren all around the same table at once.
This means a lot to your mother and I -- we really appreciate it.
I think today we’ll just have a silent prayer.”
The breathless silence that followed almost stopped my beating heart.
We were all very grateful indeed when he uttered “Amen.”
Such a feast, such a feast! Feast Feast Feast Feast!
We dined and we drank and the sisters all giggled,
We feverishly swallowed and sipped.
We chewed and we talked and reloaded our plates
While Grandma told the same story twice.
Then she looked out over her half-moon spectacles and picked the slowest eater
“Edward!” she said, “What do you need?”
“Nothing right now - I’m fine.”
“Do you need some more chicken? Coleslaw? Applesauce?”
“No thanks, Mom, I’m fine.”
“Pass this chicken down to Edward,” she decided. “Jennifer! What do you need? Green beans? Corn?”
“Doing alright down here, Grandma.”
“Pass these beans down to Jenny,” she said.
My arm twisted, I loaded more beans on my plate and forced them into my more than content stomach.
The meal went on, and on, bowls emptying one by one, plates slowly clearing.
I leaned back, belly up, in my creaking chair.
We were all so full our eyeballs were bulging when Grandma called, “Gooseberry pie?”
The rest of the day we were scattered about on couches and hammocks and rockers in the shade
Trying to get comfortable around our cross-eyed stomachs.
It wasn’t too hot, the green breeze sighed on, and we chatted and read and slept.
The kids set off fireworks when the sun was setting, all golden around the apple trees.
No one thought about supper, but instead a projector was brought down and dusted off.
And with a box of 8 millimeters and a crabby old screen, we sat hushed in the couch and the floor, we watched...
Aunt Alice, three years old, with two braids down her back, rode her tricycle up and down a sunny sidewalk, post WWII. Papaw swept her off her trike and into the air, and laughing, caught her again. Grandma appeared, young and embarrassed, and led little Alice inside.
More films were to be shown. Liz’s first birthday, Grandpa Ed at the post office, Robinette family reunions, Fourth of July - ‘51 - this was saved for last. We loaded it on, and it flickered and flipped. We taped it and tried it again and were taken to July 4th, fourty-two years past.
It was a lawn in Niangua, Missouri, decked out with Adirondack chairs and flags, in the sun.
Long dead, dearly missed old timers peered and waved at us from their yard, all smiley and lively and young.
They just waved and smiled, so happy on the Fourth.
A day for their family, for friends and food, and fireworks.
A day for our family too.
Forever,
Amen.
*July 4th fell on a Sunday in 1993, so the celebration was put off until the 5th so church activities wouldn’t be messed up.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
What the 4th of July means to me
After watching the incredible series "John Adams" on HBO a few months ago I have a fresh perspective on what tomorrow means.
First of all, the background of the men who wrote the Declaration of Independence, and the drafts and work they put into writing it, (and later the Consitution and Bill of Rights), should be taught more thoroughly in schools. When you see the debates they had about our rights as citizens, and the reasons they had for the wording of those documents, it makes you appreciate all the more what a nearly perfect work it is. Like the Bible, the Declaration, Constitution and Bill of Rights are often misinterpreted, and equally often misquoted for self-promotion. The Founders were articulate, intelligent, thoughtful, religious men, and they risked not only their own lives, but the lives of their families by even meeting to write the Declaration. If you do nothing else this 4th, go online and read a copy.
Second, above all else, patriotism does NOT mean I have a flag pasted on the bumper of my car, or attached as a pin on my dress, or suit, or waving from my front porch. Patriotism is paying attention to what our politicians are doing as they represent us, and making sure they are held accountable for their actions. Patriotism is educating ourselves about the issues that affect us, and VOTING.
Third, there are still too many men and women dying and being horribly injured in a war we never should have been in to begin with. Peace will not come to that country as long as we remain as an armed force there. We need to leave. We are destroying our military with this war, and destroying lives of not only our soldiers, but of their families as well. And I'm not even including the innocent people we have hurt in Iraq.
Reading a recent story about the beginning of Bobby Kennedy's campaign I was amazed at how many of the speeches he gave referencing our involvement in the Vietnam War could be given now...just replace Vietnam with Iraq.
Next, on a lighter note, it ain't the 4th without a parade. I was lucky enough to grow up in a town with a great 4th of July traditional parade complete with marching bands playing Sousa marches, twirlers (yes, twirlers...do bands have twirlers any more?) politicians in convertables, kids on decorated bikes, people riding horses in all manner of finery (the people AND the horses) and the must-have of all rural community parades...the antique tractors. Post-parade there were stump speeches by local candidates, carnival rides, cotton candy and sno-cones, and the huge family reunion that was the essence of that day. Not our family...the community family I grew up with. Lately I don't see any familiar faces after the parade, which is really sad for me. There is a great bluegrass song called "Rank Stranger" -- about returning to your hometown after being away for a long, long time. The chorus is something like, "everybody I see seems to be a rank stranger" -- well, that is how the 4th in my hometown is for me now. BUT, I still get to watch my kids ride their decorated bikes in the parade, and that makes it worthwhile.
Happy Independence Day.
First of all, the background of the men who wrote the Declaration of Independence, and the drafts and work they put into writing it, (and later the Consitution and Bill of Rights), should be taught more thoroughly in schools. When you see the debates they had about our rights as citizens, and the reasons they had for the wording of those documents, it makes you appreciate all the more what a nearly perfect work it is. Like the Bible, the Declaration, Constitution and Bill of Rights are often misinterpreted, and equally often misquoted for self-promotion. The Founders were articulate, intelligent, thoughtful, religious men, and they risked not only their own lives, but the lives of their families by even meeting to write the Declaration. If you do nothing else this 4th, go online and read a copy.
Second, above all else, patriotism does NOT mean I have a flag pasted on the bumper of my car, or attached as a pin on my dress, or suit, or waving from my front porch. Patriotism is paying attention to what our politicians are doing as they represent us, and making sure they are held accountable for their actions. Patriotism is educating ourselves about the issues that affect us, and VOTING.
Third, there are still too many men and women dying and being horribly injured in a war we never should have been in to begin with. Peace will not come to that country as long as we remain as an armed force there. We need to leave. We are destroying our military with this war, and destroying lives of not only our soldiers, but of their families as well. And I'm not even including the innocent people we have hurt in Iraq.
Reading a recent story about the beginning of Bobby Kennedy's campaign I was amazed at how many of the speeches he gave referencing our involvement in the Vietnam War could be given now...just replace Vietnam with Iraq.
Next, on a lighter note, it ain't the 4th without a parade. I was lucky enough to grow up in a town with a great 4th of July traditional parade complete with marching bands playing Sousa marches, twirlers (yes, twirlers...do bands have twirlers any more?) politicians in convertables, kids on decorated bikes, people riding horses in all manner of finery (the people AND the horses) and the must-have of all rural community parades...the antique tractors. Post-parade there were stump speeches by local candidates, carnival rides, cotton candy and sno-cones, and the huge family reunion that was the essence of that day. Not our family...the community family I grew up with. Lately I don't see any familiar faces after the parade, which is really sad for me. There is a great bluegrass song called "Rank Stranger" -- about returning to your hometown after being away for a long, long time. The chorus is something like, "everybody I see seems to be a rank stranger" -- well, that is how the 4th in my hometown is for me now. BUT, I still get to watch my kids ride their decorated bikes in the parade, and that makes it worthwhile.
Happy Independence Day.
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