Gardener

My blog has been comatose over the past four months and the reason is "The Fruited Plain." Let me explain. In late August, my daughter and her husband purchased a building on Main Street in Sioux Center and began the long process of gutting it and creating from the space a coffee shop/wine bar to be called "The Fruited Plain." And just like that, I had a job--volunteer laborer. Whatever needed to be done, I did or attempted to do along with a large number of volunteers. We tore out the old ceiling and the loose insulation--by the dumpster-full; we pulled nails out of old 2x4's reclaimed from the old stud-walls. We put up new studwalls and covered them with sheetrock--in some cases 4 layers of 3/4 inch drywall, 2 layers on either side (for a firewall). We mudded the joints and primed and painted and applied a clay like substance to the walls. We cut trenches for plumbing and elctricity in the cement floor. We removed old paint from the interior brick walls to cre...

My daughter tells me that is the day to blog about Global warming and so I thought I would go back about 15 years to the first piece I ever wrote about global warming. Here are some excerpts. Imagine a man living his entire live in a modest and sober manner but then upon reaching the age of fifty suddenly going on a wild and extravagant week-long orgy. And further, in the course of that binge, he contracts a terrible, incurable disease and lives out the remainder of life suffering the consequences of that disease. This is the analogy Tim McKibben uses in his book The End of Nature to describe humankind's use of energy. For thousands of years prior to the Industrial Revolution our energy consumption was modest and the resulting production of carbon dioxide was also modest. But during the last two centuries we have engaged in an orgy of fossil fuel consumption, pumping carbon dioxide into the atmosphere at ever increasing rates. Now, says McKibben, we have changed nature to such an ...

My wife and I went to a movie the other night. Up. It was okay—a couple of really heartwarming scenes that show the pain in the loss of a mate were great. The accompanying music—a simple piano—was really moving, especially to people who realize they are getting older. What was not okay was the volume—especially the volume at which the 12 or so inane previews were presented. As an older person, I recognize that my hearing is not what it used to be, but even to me, the volume was so loud it nearly drove me from the theatre. I felt assaulted. I sat through the 15 minutes of previews with my fingers in my ears the entire time. When the movie finally began, the volume was turned down a bit, but it was still much too loud. I will admit that when I watch TV at my kids’ home, I miss half of what is said because the volume is too low, and when they watch TV at our house they complain that we have the volume turned too high. Having said that, let me assert that the theatre’s use of such high-dec...

Last week I was power-touched twice—or at least I think I was. When it happened, I did not know whether such a thing as a Power Touch existed. I thought the phrase “power-touching” was my invention, but I googled the phrase just to make sure and discovered it is not my invention at all. But more on that later. What is Power Touching? In my experience, it usually occurs between two males—one who occupies a position of authority in relation to the other. The person in the authority position will at some point in the conversation put his hand on the shoulder or back or arm of the other. He may even rub the back or arm in a caressing manner. The intent of the touch, I believe, is to put the other person at ease—create a sort of comfort zone. As I experienced my touchings last week, one was done by an expert, so naturally that it seemed just a part of the conversation. But the other was done so awkwardly that I had the feeling that the person doing it was doing it as some sort of a...

Here's a poem I have been tinkering with ever since April 1 when my MSN Home page spit out the information that April was genocide awareness month. It seemed so bizzare, almost obscene, to try to stuff something as immense and horrific as genocide into a month. As so often happens, the poem went in a somewhat different direction than I expected. Upon Learning that April Is Genocide Prevention Month As if you didn’t have enough to do, April, here you come babbling about genocide prevention. Sweet, hippie-girl April, with your daffodils everywhere shouting their happy yellow song and waving at me as I pass, your grass so green it hurts my eyes, and the pale green leaves of trees, like tiny cupped hands that catch and drink the misty air. Oh, April, bright, fragile, hopeful April, all the tender trees are dressed in their thin green-gold ingénue frocks, ready to dance the night away. Will you cancel the prom? And what would you have us do? Shall we send a flower to a warlord? A bouque...

Illuminated Manuscript OUR LORD REIGNS BANANAS--2LBS FOR 39 CENTS FLOWERS During a spring snowstorm I saw the brightly lit sign in front of a fruit market, but laughed it off. April snowstorms being conducive to cynicism. But a brief flurry of crocuses two weeks later chipped away at my doubt and then one day on the road to work I was nearly blinded by daffodil and forsythia shine. After that, doubt didn't stand a change. Petunias, tulips impatiens pattered down, catching in window boxes, along sidewalks. Rhododendrons thundered in lavender clouds, dandelions crackled in jagged lines across green lawns. Oh, yes! Our Lord reigns, rains flowers. Fruit showers, forecast for later in the summer, came as expected. Strawberries and raspberries gushed through gutters, a Red Sea miracle. Plums the size of golfballs pelted unprotected cars. Bananas whirling like boomerangs filled the air. Apples, peaches, pears came down like cats and dogs, all together, all singing a rainbow promise: Our L...