Prairie View

About Having "Had It"

2012-01-29T12:29:00.000-08:00

Last night, to an empty house, I announced "I have just had it with OpenOffice." It felt so good to say it out loud that I said it again, with more emphasis. I wrote it later to Joel and said it to Hiromi after he got home, and this morning I said it to Judith.

I did have second thoughts during the sermon this morning when I realized I was not rejoicing the slightest bit in my trials. I'm still trying to figure out what further action is needed, either in the attitude adjustment department or in the software purchasing department.

I've whined before about the trials of getting a presentable booklet in print with the limitations of the software that all the students have access to at school--the free OpenOffice one. Because I knew that I could never hope to have them learn to do such a project on their own, I was determined to figure it out for myself and then teach them how to do it. After a month of working at it, and learning how to solve many problems along the way, I have reached the conclusion that it's really NOT WORTH IT for such a complex project. It's better to use a more sophisticated program to start with.

Besides me, three men who all have plenty of other things to do, have invested a number of hours to help get things figured out--Harold N., Wesley S., and Joel I. Some or all of them could have earned enough money in the hours they spent on this to have bought one of the better word processing programs. I have used a good bit of paper and ink to print online instructions for some of the workarounds it took to solve problems. I suspect, furthermore, that most of the students have a better option at home than OpenOffice. If that is the case, why are we wasting their time at school by teaching them the intricacies of a version they may never use again?

The crowning insult on the Rural Roots booklet project was that after everything finally looked good, it printed only in a miniaturized format. The suggested workaround for that was so ridiculous, I gave up in despair. The print area was to fit on an 8 1/2" x 5 1/2" sheet, so I set the paper size to that. Apparently I should have made the 8 1/2 measurement something like 13 inches so that it would spread out over the sheet properly. That's what I mean by ridiculous. At his invitation (after I announced my complaint) I emailed the manuscript to Joel in an attachment and he transferred it to Microsoft Word and cleaned it up for about another 3 1/2 hours and then printed a nice copy.

To be fair, I should add that OpenOffice does work fairly well for most of what the students do at school--writing study notes for themselves or completing written assignments. At other times, when it doesn't work so well, I agree to accept something that is clearly second best, because I feel it's unfair to ask them to go through the contortions it would take to do what I think would be better. Case in point: For footnotes on the research papers, I saw that the superscript numbers in the text and the endnote numbers where the sources were listed . . . both were in lower case Roman numerals. Arabic numerals would clearly have been preferable, and I checked to see how it could be changed. There might be a way, but I couldn't find it, and they couldn't either, so I said to leave it the Roman numerals way. No teacher I know will want it that way, but that's what they've done, because of the way the program works.

I wonder what other small private schools do for word processing software, or more importantly, what we should do. Any ideas? Needless expense is to be avoided, of course.

Siemens Generates Enthusiasm and Electricity

2012-01-28T06:01:00.000-08:00

Yesterday three people from Siemens presented a program at our school. This wind generator manufacturer has been in operation in Hutchinson for one year. In two daily shifts, they are now producing two generators a day. The local factory specializes in manufacturing the nacelle, which is the "body" of the wind generator "airplane." The fan blades come from Iowa, and the hub into which the blades are fastened comes from China. Plans are underway to begin manufacturing the hub in Hutchinson in the future--in a new factory to be built near Siemens. The tower is also built elsewhere.

Each generator sells for $5 million, and powers 690 households. With better efficiencies, they hope to eventually use the same model to power up to 900 households.

Several distinctives in Siemens' generators:

1) No other manufacturer uses one-piece blades. All others are made up of glued-together pieces. The finish on the blades is applied as though it were being applied to fine furniture. Running a hand across the surface to check for irregularities that would result in undesirable friction or imbalance is part of the process.

2) No other manufacturer offers a ten-year warranty. Some offer no warranty, and others only a one-year warranty.

3) They didn't make a point of this, but Siemens is probably unique in their countries of origin being both Germany and Denmark. The company was formed in Germany and later sold to someone from Denmark. I associate Germans with second-to-none expertise in engineering, and Scandanavians with elegant design. That sounds like a winning combination to me. Siemens' spokespersons yesterday alluded to wind generators owing their design origins to traditional Dutch windmills, so Holland perhaps needs its own place in the countries-of-origin list.

The enormity of these generator "beasts" is truly impressive. The towers are nearly 400 feet tall. The blades are over 90 feet long, making the circumference of the fan sweep close to 200 feet. The hub is shipped overland by semi, but its size presents a formidable load even for a semi. The nacelle can only be shipped by rail car. I assume that is true also of the fan blades. The whole assembly at the top of the tower weighs at least 150 tons, and is put in place by three cranes.

Wind generators are touted as a way to produce environmentally friendly energy. I've wondered, though, how the energy output of a generator compares with the energy required to manufacture the generator in the first place. Siemens answered that question by saying that in one year of operation, a Siemens machine produces as much energy as it took to bring it online for generating electricity in the first place.

Siemens hopes to bring their program to every school in our county. Pilgrim was the first school to be so favored. They're asking us for feedback on the presentation. I will provide some suggestions for improvement, but it was very good as it was. It was certainly a worthwhile Friday afternoon activity.

Hutchinson has the potential for becoming as much a hub (Ha. Accidental pun.) of wind generator production as Wichita is for airplane manufacturing. If Siemens' professed commitment to Reno County proves to be more durable than Boeing's commitment to Sedgwick County (They recently announced plans to move much of their manufacturing west to Washington.), we're on a very good economic course. Wages there are better than any jobs I know of requiring comparable skills.

Our school now owns its very own wind generator. True, it's only 15 inches tall, and the fan blades are about three inches long. But the Siemens name fits on the nacelle. and I think I know exactly what we should do with it, along with the chunk of salt that came from the mine in Hutchinson. I plan to tell the Home Environment class about it next week.

An Act of Kindness at Wal-Mart

2012-01-26T18:09:00.000-08:00

Last week an elderly lady came through Hiromi's checkout lane. "80-ish" Hiromi judged her to be. She had boarded the Reno County Area Transit (R-cat) "bus" in Turon, a tiny town in the southwestern part of the county, and traveled about 40 miles to Hutchinson to do her shopping. She had picked up a lot of groceries--$120.00 worth.

When her total was figured up--that's when she discovered that she had no checks in her checkbook. She already knew that she had no cash. Despair.

"I'll pay for it," the woman in line behind her offered. She did just that.

The cart and the ladies moved off.

Later Hiromi saw the elderly lady sitting alone on one of the "waiting" benches. "Where are your groceries?" he asked.

"They're at the service desk," she said. "I didn't have any checks and couldn't pay for them, so they'll have to put them back."

"Oh, but they're paid for. The lady behind you paid for them. Let's go get your groceries." They walked together to the service desk and retrieved the cart--still mercifully full. Hiromi pushed it back to the bench for her, and she sat companionably with her groceries till the R-cat came for her.

"That's such a heartwarming story," I told Hiromi.

"Well, the lady said she hadn't paid her tithes for a long time, and this was her chance to catch up a little."

Whatever the reason, I'm glad that lady from Turon didn't have to go that long way home without her groceries. People like her need able-bodied adults to look out for them just as surely as young children do. I guess God already knew that and sent help when she needed it.

An Unaffordable Status Quo

2012-01-20T18:38:00.000-08:00

In commenting on the "Nothing Here" post Danny referred to dwellings created inside circular steel grain bins. I've seen articles on such makeovers, and can see that it makes sense for some situations. I've thought for a long time that after we move back to our Trail West place, Hiromi ought to set up his pottery kiln inside a steel bin. That wouldn't be a dwelling, of course, but it would be a shelter, and it would be fireproof--not bad features for a setup with corrosion-prone parts and a target heat of over 1000 degrees.

I also agree with Danny that steel bins look right in our environment. I thought of this tonight on my way home from school when I passed a farm south of us with a family of steel bins right out by the road--Mama and Papa and four babies. I can see it already: one big bin for the kitchen/dining room/living room, a little bin attached for the laundry area and a half bath, and the other three little bins for bedroom suites. The second big bin could be self-contained guest quarters. I think getting Jack R. on board with these plans for his bins could be a challenge though. He would be likely to prefer to continue the boring practice of filling them with grain at harvest time.

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I'm told that the ancient desert temples at Karnak in Egypt were built by pouring "concrete" around and on top of great piles of sand. After the concrete was hardened, the sand was removed. That's a pretty creative way to form up concrete in an area devoid of trees. I don't know why Arkansas River sand wouldn't work the same way here. Cave cellar/tornado shelter, anyone?

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In the process of preparing the Rural Roots book for publication, I reviewed what I recalled of Amos Nisly's springhouse, and marveled again at how appropriate the setup was for the many purposes it served in a day when there was no electricity on the farm. I believe variations of this setup were present on many farms. Lillian E. wrote all about it.

A windmill pumped water into the first of three large cement vats, lined up along one wall of the springhouse. The first vat was kept very clean, and had a lid to cover it. A tin cup hung on a bent wire nearby, and anyone who needed a drink could dip the cup into the water and get a cold drink. The next vat was shallow. It was filled by overflow from the first one. Jars of milk or deep bowls of other foods in need of cooling were stored here. The third vat was very deep. Five or ten gallon cans of cream or milk could be immersed here. From this last vat, an overflow pipe or channel carried water outdoors to water the garden via trenches alongside the rows of vegetables. Some farms routed this water to the stock tank first, and then to the garden.

Such a setup would still make a great deal of sense for some of the things we do on our farm. Watering is often needed for Kansas gardens. Pumping it can consume a lot of electricity. What if, with or without a windmill, we could first run water for the garden through a produce house, where veggies would be cooled by water circulating around the tubs they're stored in? Flowers in buckets and vases would love the moist environment as well. From the produce house, the water would be routed to the garden. Saving the cost of refrigeration could be even more significant than saving the cost of pumping water.

At the Tallgrass Prairie Preserve (a National Park in eastern Kansas) a historic limestone house on the premises had a natural refrigerator that operated along the same lines. A partially earth-sheltered stone structure had a shallow trough all around the edge of the room. Water constantly ran through the trough, and cooled the foods that were set into it.

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I'm thinking that building houses and accessing healthcare have some things in common. In both cases the current prevailing practices are fast becoming unaffordable for people of modest means. The answers can't be found entirely in higher income, creative financing, careful saving, redistributing the costs over a larger population, or a windfall of an inheritance. New approaches are needed. Looking to the past, looking around at what is already available, and being willing to try things that aren't status quo approaches might all play a part in providing for some of our most basic physical needs.

Unfunny

2012-01-19T16:12:00.000-08:00

Hiromi thinks I should tell my readers about a disgusting Facebook event that happened recently. My troubles began when I clicked on a video link posted by a trusted friend from another state. I soon saw that it was inappropriate and got out before the video finished. I was sure that my friend had not intentionally posted the video, and felt sorry for her that someone invaded her account to post it on her wall. The next morning I saw it on another local friend's wall. When I called it to her attention--again, someone who I knew would never post such a thing--she told me she had clicked on the link when she saw it posted on my wall the night before. Grrrrrr. Now I was feeling sorry for myself and my local friend.

Apparently, whenever anyone clicks on it, the video immediately reposts on the "clicker's" wall. I'm giving you the thumbnail details here so you won't blunder into this mess. It says "Caution Wet Paint, Very very funny LOL. (No. Very very unfunny.) The thumbnail picture isn't really clear (or I would have known not to click on it), but there is an article of blue clothing on the right and red clothing on the left. Two people are wearing the clothing, but it looks confusing because it's not a full-length picture by any means.

I went to my wall and removed the post. Then I changed by password. That is apparently what it takes to protect oneself from this happening again by the same source.

A "Nothing Here" Place

2012-01-18T17:25:00.000-08:00

"There's nothing here," Rhonda's son said as they drove into Kansas. Rhonda is a native Kansan who has lived for a decade or two in another state. She knew what her son meant, but knew also that he was missing a lot of what is important about Kansas. The people, in particular.

Earlier this week, in the Home Environment class I'm teaching this semester, I had talked about the principle of "inhabiting the site," as explained in the book Patterns of Home. Homes feel best to people when they fit into the surrounding natural features rather than starkly standing apart from them. In class I pointed out that our flat landscape may seem to be lacking in features to blend in with. We have no rock formations or forests or mountains or even slopes to let our houses grow among or out of. So what are we to do to make our homes "inhabit the site?"

I'm not sure if anyone has completely figured that out, but my mind has gone to some interesting places in puzzling over this.

I thought of the house on the banks of Plum Creek, a dugout home described in the Laura Ingalls Wilder book carrying that name. That home fit so thoroughly into the environment that a person could have walked over the top of it without knowing it was there. Building like that required a creek bank, however. We do have creeks nearby, but no spots that I know of that would be safe to build a dugout in. Other settlers in this area built sod houses. I can't imagine a more "inhabiting the site" thing to do than to build a house out of materials found on the site. That, of course, is also what people have done by building log cabins in forested areas and stone houses in rocky places.

I told my students that I thought in Kansas we should think of the sky scape--not only the landscape--when we explore the ideal siting of a house on a piece of land. It's one of the most notable features of the outdoor world because none of it is obscured by trees and hills or mountains. When do we especially wish to see the sky? Sunrise and sunset? If that's the case, we ought to make sure that the places in our homes that are occupied at those times have a good view to the east and west.

Another common feature of our place is wind. On featureless land, we don't have a lot of options for wind protection, but we can at least minimize the glass openings on the north sides of the house, where the coldest winds usually strike. If we decide to build along an east-west road, if we have a choice, a building site on the south side of the road would be preferred, to keep the road dust from billowing over the house when traffic passes while a south wind blows. This would especially be a benefit during a dry summer when the windows might be open to admit breezes--at a time when the prevailing winds are from the south.

Abundant sunshine nearly all year suggests that we cash in on its winter benefits, with wide windows on the south, and deep roof overhangs so that no scorching heat is admitted during the summer.

Visually, though, what kind of house design fits in best on a prairie landscape? A long, low structure. Like a ranch style house, which is just like that--a low-profile house, most at home on a wide, grassy ranch. Or perhaps a monolithic dome, like a bubble resting on the flat surface of the water in a dishpan.

Frank Lloyd Wright is famous for the Prairie Style of architecture. Low, flat roofs are part of this signature style. They echo the unwaveringly horizontal boundary of our landscape where it meets the sky in a circle all around us. True, the low flat roof line looks stunning in "Falling Water," one of Wright's most famous buildings, which isn't part of a prairie landscape at all. It's built in a bluff along a rocky creek. The building echoes its surroundings by being constructed partly of stone, and having a waterfall cascading off some of the roof edges. "Falling Water" steps up the slope by the creek in wide, flat steps, just as a prairie house could hunker down under a wide flat roof among the tall grasses that grow naturally here. The pronounced horizontal lines of Prairie Style architecture turn out to be very versatile architectural features.

Besides Kansas' pronounced horizon line, our natural landscape is loaded with texture--a fundamental element of design. Grasses lie on the earth in soft waves, the taller ones slipping away and rising again in response to the wind that lifts and lays them down. I'm not sure how to incorporate this feature into a home design, but I'd love to see someone try. Flapping shingles wouldn't cut it, I'm sure. Perhaps light and shadow playing across a sandy colored textured wall surface would be evocative of prairie vegetation showing its glistening blooms and duller stems by turns. Somewhere in the landscape, a native Cottonwood tree, rustling pleasantly, and showing its shiny top leaf surfaces and duller undersides would create its own light and shadow show, just as the grasses do.

The more I think about it, the more I wonder why people here so often copy home and landscape designs that could just as well be found in Ohio or Arkansas as Kansas. We could be so much more interesting if we dared to think and then live outside the "box" that is home for all the people who live in less interesting places than ours.

We'll never have enough money to build a sand colored monolithic dome with cottonwood trees growing nearby--but not directly to the east or west, so as to leave the sunrise and sunset visible. But I'm pretty sure if we did, living in it would feel just right. The winds would lift over the house without slamming into the exterior walls. We'd be as snug as the Ingalls family was in their dugout or the settlers were in their sod houses. Wes Jackson would say it would be a good way of "becoming native to this place." Traditional builders would shudder, but only until the first tornado came along and our house was the only one left standing. Then it would look like a sensible and abundant way of living in a place with nothing here.

Leona's Kansas Family

2012-01-15T20:11:00.000-08:00

Today I finished reading Will Leona Find a Family by Susan Huber. Not since I read Ervin R. Stutzman's books Tobias of the Amish and Emma, A Widow Among the Amish have I read a book with so many bursts of recognition: I know these people!

The book is the true story of Leona, who grew up to marry Jonathan Kuepfer from Canada--one of many young men lured to Kansas by the money and adventure awaiting participants in the annual wheat harvest.

Leona and Jonathan lived for a number of years here in Kansas, around the corner to the east and north from my grandparents, Levi and Clara Miller. Kansas was at its worst during some of the years they lived here, and survival was a struggle, especially during the dust bowl days of the 1930s. Like several other local Amish families, the Kuepfers butchered farm animals and peddled the meat in Hutchinson, as part of their effort to make ends meet. Eventually, however, they gave up the fight and moved away.

Some of the others named in the story were Delilah Nisly (mother of Menno, Melvin, and others in our church), and every member of the Headings family, with whom Leona lived from the time she was ten until her marriage to Jonathan when she was 18 years old. The baby of the Headings family was Mary, married to Fred Nisly. Mary has died now, but Fred is still a faithful member of our church. Most of their children live in Kansas but Maynard lives in Indiana and Ruth Yoder lives in Florida.

Leona was left motherless in Ohio when she was 15 months old. Eventually she was sent to live at a Mennonite orphanage, and then at the age of ten came to Kansas to be part of the Valentine Headings household. She never relinquished her Follas last name, and, in fact, kept in contact with her father and her two brothers in Ohio throughout her lifetime. In every way possible, the Headings family accepted her as one of their own and made her feel welcome.

Jonathan and Leona were Amish until they moved to Ontario after some of their children were nearly grown. Both of them died in their late sixties. At that time they were part of the Bethel Conservative Mennonite Church.

The Kuepfer family eventually grew to include 15 children who grew to adulthood. Several grandchildren also joined the household later, after the family had moved to Canada.

The Kansas part of the story contains many stories of childhood escapades. The children were blessed with mega-doses of inquisitiveness and innovation--often to the dismay of the adults trying to keep them safe and healthy--once even to the dismay of many residents of Hutchinson, who saw a strange light in the night sky at the height of fear during World War II. Enemy activity was suspected. It was a flare "pot" the children had found discarded along the railroad. They had lit it and attached it to the tail of a kite, which they then launched and watched for a long time. The light swung back and forth on its tail, then finally went out. The next day someone from the law enforcement department in Hutchinson came out to investigate. Mostly he was asking if anyone else saw the light and knew what it was. The experiment was not repeated.

It's probably understandable that the context part of the story is fairly minimal, since the author of the book is the youngest member of the family, and was born in Canada. No dates are given throughout the book. I miss them, and could provide some of my own context if they were present.

Mention is made of neighbor Delilah Nisly who made herself responsible for reporting the dangerous exploits of some of the Kuepfer boys who were known to cavort on top of the barn roof out of sight of their parents. Those of us who knew Delilah have no trouble imagining her taking seriously her responsibility to look out for all the children of the neighborhood.

Perhaps Delilah never heard the story I heard within the past month of her own son, Melvin, when he was surely old enough to know better--21 perhaps, who stood on his head at the peak of their barn roof, during the process of repairing it after the 1948 wind storm that tore through the community.

What I know of the Kuepfer family is the occasional visitors in church on a Sunday morning--visitors from Canada who my father would introduce to us as his childhood friends. A more recent connection is my daughter-in-law Dorcas, whose dad was a Kuepfer from Canada. I haven't learned yet whether she has any connection to the Kansas Kuepfers from all those years ago. I understand that Kuepfers in Canada are very numerous and often not closely related to the few that any one of us happens to know.

Market/Kitchen Notes

2012-01-14T17:08:00.000-08:00

At our annual organizational meeting for the Farmer's Market today, I got asked unexpectedly to provide input on what people need to know about equipping a commercial kitchen. I surprised myself by advocating for anyone on a building committee involving construction of new kitchen facilities to make sure the necessary features are built in. I even stuck my neck out so far as to say that it's unconscionable not to do the few extra things it takes to make a kitchen certifiable for preparation of food that is to be sold. This would make it possible for someone who wishes to sell a processed food item to make the necessary preparations in a church kitchen and sell it legally to consumers. Even for fund-raising food events, a certified kitchen is technically required. Usually this requirement is not enforced, however.

I think I've referred to some of these things before, but here goes again.

Here are the things you need to have in a kitchen--beyond the normal and expected things--if you want a kitchen to be certified (Disclaimer: Some variation in local laws is possible) :

1. A three-sectioned sink (to allow for dishes to go through a sanitizing solution after washing and rinsing)

2. A floor drain (to dispose of mop water without the temptation of pouring it into a sink used for food prep)

3. A separate hand washing sink (so as not to mix germs from hands with food preparation areas)

4. An entrance directly into the kitchen area from the outside (so as not to schlep food items through areas that might introduce contamination)

5. A separate storage room for supplies and extra equipment (Not sure of the logic here.)

Last year a lot of vendors of Mexican foods had to stop coming to the market because they did not have access to commercial kitchens for food preparation. We missed them, and revenues for the market were down this year--partly also because it was a year when produce growers struggled because of the incessant heat and drought.

Sales amounted to a quarter of a million dollars. On one market day, about 3,000 customers passed through the building. The last week in July and the first week in August were the highest volume days for market sales--about $15,000.00 on one day.

In 2012, the midweek market will be on Wednesday from 10:00-2:00--different hours than before, and a very welcome change to a cooler time of day. Last year it was from 11:00-3:30.

For the first time ever--in 27 years, no one from the Amish-Mennonite community is on the market board.

We all agreed that the weekly 1/2 hour radio program every Saturday morning was a great way to get customers to the market, even though many of us felt like rank amateurs while we were on the air--often impromptu.

Our market is the only covered market in Kansas--a gift many years ago from the Ontjes family, who used to own the downtown Pegues store.

Someone noted today that a lot of the "saving money" advice columns advocate going to farmer's markets near the end of the market day when people are willing to sell food cheap because they don't want to take it home. Not at our market. Most of us have families or friends who can use extra produce, and we all agree that if we start selling things cheap at the end of every market day, we will inadvertently train people to show up only at that time, and we won't be able to make enough money to stay in business.

As always, the annual meeting is a great "feel good" event--the only time in the year when vendors actually have nothing more pressing to do than to sit down to talk. During the market season, usually conversation happens in between waiting on customers or getting set up to sell. If you're local, stop in to see us next summer. If you're not, find a farmer's market near you and patronize it as much as you can. It's one way of loving your neighbor as yourself.

Bright and Dark Places

2012-01-13T16:20:00.000-08:00

On the flight home from Virginia, we stopped off in Chicago. Almost all of the first flight was over a dreary landscape--obscured by gray clouds beneath us. We had left behind a wintry mix of sleet, snow and rain in Mission Home and Richmond. Darkness arrived about the time we landed in Chicago. In the air again, west of Chicago, the skies were clear and every light below looked cheery and sparkling. I leaned my head against the side of the cabin and looked out all the way home, ignoring my seatmate entirely, except for a brief greeting when he arrived.

I knew I must be seeing Illinois and Iowa and Missouri and then Kansas, but I couldn't tell which was which. Too lazy to keep track of the time, the approach to Wichita was announced long before I was expecting it.

The past week and a half has seemed too full of gray and dark. I think all of us who knew Esther felt that her death meant way too much loss--she herself missing out on the years of her life that could have brought reward for all that she had invested in her children and in others. Her tiny grandchildren someday feeling cheated for not having learned to know her. All of us feeling that our time with her was too short.

Before we had left Virginia we got word of yet another death--Marvin's dad, Elmer Mast. Marvin and Lois rerouted their trip home to Kansas and went instead from Chicago to Tennessee. The only two children still at home met them in Chicago. Benji and Heidi were to fly in from Mexico where they had gone for a six-week Spanish language course. Hans could not come from India.

Linda and I flew home as planned. Elmer had died very suddenly from a heart attack. He had planned to come to Galichia Hospital in Wichita next week to have his heart problems investigated. He never made it, despite his cardiologist earlier having told him that his problems weren't urgent. Out of time. Again. Elmer was 76.

The first full day that I was home, Shane's dog, Lexi, got hit and killed on the road by our house. In the overall picture, this wasn't such a big deal, but she was a great little friend, and I miss her. Shane feels the financial loss. She was a registered bitch, and was to pay her own way in life by producing salable puppies. He's raised her from a pup. We don't have a kennel here in which to confine the dogs, but they usually stay here when Shane is gone.

Tonight when I left school a conversation was in progress that called forth a mixture of emotions on my part--a little disgust, a little pity, and a lot of relief that it wasn't my problem to deal with. Also, after school I had to fulfill a promise to withhold privilege from a student who failed to hand in a simple little paper--the first assignment for the Home Environment class I'm teaching this semester. That didn't feel good.

My grading has not advanced much this week. I was too busy with getting the new class underway. I've also spent time on the Rural Roots project--correcting the electronic file, gathering and recording the income from sales, going to the bank with the small bills and coins to exchange them for less bulky money.

We've had ever-so-windy and cold, cloudy weather during the middle of the week.

It's Shane and Dorcas' turn to clean the church this weekend. They came home from Virginia on Thursday morning, after driving most of the previous day and night. A stop-off in Tennessee for the calling hours for Elmer Mast took some time out of the long drive. Shane left again this morning on a two-day trucking run. (So much unexpected time away from work--spending money instead of making it takes a toll.) Danny went along to help drive. I'm not sure how Dorcas feels about this much time alone except for the baby. Understandably, all of us were oblivious to the cleaning obligation and did not plan for it.

Hiromi's car has a problem in its cooling system. He changed a leaking radiator hose in the biting cold yesterday, but it still has a problem. We took it to the repair shop before school this morning.

Mom and Dad's next-door neighbor died night before last of a heart attack. He was 72. They were babysitting someone's dog, and on that cold night he had taken the dog outside and died there. Hiromi had worked with him earlier--at Collins Industries perhaps.

Marian's 95-year old mother is sick, although she seems a bit improved today over yesterday. I called Marian this morning and told her she needn't come today to help with cleaning if she's needed at home. She took me up on the offer.

Quite enough dark and dreary stuff.

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The ladies in Dorcas' Sunday School class made plans to do the church cleaning for her. After the plan was made, some of the ladies ended up traveling to Tennessee for Elmer Mast's funeral. I can't imagine that cleaning works very well for them this week after all. However, the gesture is greatly appreciated by all of us who know that kindness and mercy is being extended. That's a bright spot in how the world looks right now.

Lois says that she wonders if Elmer would have survived his surgery if he had come to Galichia and had surgery as "planned." It was so much better for him to die at home than hundreds of miles away here in Kansas--possibly after having endured more pain and expense in the process. Another thing to be thankful for.

Lois and Marvin almost went to India for this week. Lois said that if they had gone when they planned, they would have just arrived there when Elmer died. If they had gone, Elmer would almost certainly not have come to Galichia till after they got home, and the delay would surely have gone beyond next week. They're very thankful that he didn't die while waiting for them to come home from India so he could plan for his surgery.

The story of their decision not to go to India is another bright spot. Earlier they had hoped the whole family could go there together for Vacation Bible School. Then Benji felt that he should spend his winter break from FB studying Spanish, and Heidi wanted to share that experience, so it became clear that the whole family would not go to India together. They all decided to give it up, except for Hans, who was able to go. Their would-be hosts in India were disappointed.

When Marvin and Lois heard how much extra work and responsibility their absence was costing their friends in India, they reconsidered, and decided that only Marvin and Lois would go. They called India to tell their friends they were coming. That afternoon Lois talked to Jayapradah, who is a dear Christian friend from India--now living in Florida. Lois told her that they were planning a trip to India--and could hardly believe Jaya's response. "No. You do not go to India. Not now. Later you can go, but not now."

Jaya could not say why, although she did mention vaguely that their family needs them, their business needs them . . . "In the states, you can go where you're needed, but not if you're in India."

Jaya has often spoken prophetically, with knowledge of things no one but God could have told her, and Marvin and Lois both knew after hearing from Jaya that the door had just slammed shut for going to India. They called Sam and Becca and told them they weren't coming after all. They went to Esther's funeral instead, and after Marvin's Dad's death, everything became abundantly clear. That bright word from the Lord had come just in time.

The weather was sunny and calm today, and promises to warm into the upper 50s and 60s over the weekend.

Lexi at least won't be having mongrel puppies, courtesy of Bandit, who sneaks over here whenever he gets a chance. His amorous intent is understandable but not welcome.

We have the use of Joel's car while ours is ailing. A Mitsubishi Eclipse is quite a step up from the old and klunky Chevy Caprice Hiromi drives. If image matters, Hiromi's just got a nice burnishing in the rides department.

The day after Esther's funeral, the Faith Mission Home church service was meaningful and beautiful. A men's group sang about three songs, each of them with words that went straight to the heart, sent there with as much joy as an aching heart can feel.

On this trip I met Sheila, a former student who works now at Faith Mission Home. She loves the work, and if her co-workers are smart they love having her there. I'm almost sorry I never had a chance to write a letter of reference for her. It would have been a good one.

I also met Phil S., who along with LaVerne M. and me made up the group of three 17 year-olds who were on the very first Calvary Clarion staff at Calvary Bible School. We haven't seen each other for at least 30 years and did not recognize each other. (Yvonne was a year or two older, also on the Clarion staff.) Phil's wife Ida was a childhood acquaintance from Iowa and then Arkansas and then Costa Rica. She and Phil were busy and capable food committee members over the time of Esther's funeral. Ida told us that their children have fits at how young CBS students used to be, and how young they let them do things like putting together the Clarion.

I ate among several couples from Canada one evening--Jantzis and Gerbers. One of the men preached the next morning in church. Over supper the evening before, I had learned about a book written about the "Kuepfers in Kansas," as they put it. I bought the book today at Glenns--Will Leona Find a Home. They asked if I knew about the book when I inquired about the Kuepfer family my dad's family had grown up with. The Kuepfer and Miller children lived around the corner from each other and used to ride together to Poplar school.

That same evening I had a good conversation with Sharon Schnupp Kuepfer, who does a lot of writing, much of it right now focused on telling the story of her parents' lives--Clair and Clara. Sharon's husband is married to Mark Kuepfer's brother Steve.

Another writer friend, Verda Glick, was at Esther's funeral. I found myself eating lunch beside her, although separated by about half an empty bench before I looked over and saw who was there, and then scooted over next to her. Verda was in the states to help her mother celebrate her 105th birthday. Verda's family had been in Kenya for a few months and lived across the wall from the Kuepfer family--close enough to hear Esther's hearty and contagious laugh.

One more writer friend, Marie Yoder, shared her home, her time, a packed lunch, and her latest book with us. Sue Ann Miller had served us supper the evening before and took us to David and Marie's house and then to meet Marvin and Lois in Ruckersville. In all these people, the light of Christ shines brightly and I loved spending time with them.

The very first night we stayed with David and Michelle Beachy. Michelle is another author--one whom I had never met, although I've known both her parents for years. They both lived in Holmes County when I taught school there. Good people, preparing to leave the house they built and planned to spend a lifetime in--for voluntary service at Allegheny Boy's Camp in Maryland.

At Mim's house on Sunday afternoon, I learned to know her daughter, who has Down Syndrome. She is very sweet. She and I ended up sort of snuggling down on the couch and taking a little nap after Mary Zook (who has nephews in our school) had gone for a walk and Linda and Mim were chatting away.

We stopped in for a bit at Mark's house and saw where Dorcas had grown up--when she wasn't in Kenya. Mark had built the house. Mark showed us where Esther's bed had been in her last days and pointed out the view through big windows near her bed and across the room from there. Craig and Rachel's twin baby girls and Tristan were all there in the living room nearby--so much life and health and promise wrapped up in their being. Mark asked about Hiromi and Mom and Dad and asked us to take greetings for them.

The upstairs guest quarters at FMH where we stayed for two nights were idyllic. From there I saw the man who lives downstairs enter the bell tower to ring the bell on Sunday morning. I spread out at the table to do some grading or arranged the cushions "just so" and graded papers on the sofa. The bed was comfortable, and the names of each of the three guest rooms and the decor were perfect examples of "inhabiting the site"--an architectural principle we're learning about in home environment class. References to the bell tower, the old post office and St. Anne's gable were included in the names. Those places were visible from the windows in those rooms at one time--the post office gone now, and St. Anne's now called Faith Mission Home. The bell tower still stands--well-crafted and sturdy. The church is right across the drive from the guest house.

**********************

While I was in the lunch line after the funeral, a boy 10-12 years old was in line behind me. He was friendly and courteous, apologizing heartily when he realized he had accidentally almost cut in front of me. So I engaged him in conversation.

"Do you live here?" I asked first.

"No. I live in Tensey."

"Is that a town in Virginia?" I asked.

"No. Tensey."

"Where's that?" (I'm sure he thought I was a hopeless case in the geography department.)

"Tensey," he said one more time.

"Oh. Tennessee!" (Finally.)

This called for an effort to redeem myself. "What town is nearby?"

"Dixon." (Finally something I understood the first time.)

"Do you know Paul and Darlene?" (Darlene is Marvin's sister.)

"Yes. They're our neighbors."

By then it was our turn to enter the church and go down the stairs to eat lunch.

Later I asked Lois if it's common for people from Tennessee to drop a syllable from their state name when they use the name.

"Oh yeah," she said. "All the time."

Whew. So my hearing hadn't totally failed me after all.

Unholy Entertainment

2012-01-12T15:20:00.000-08:00

I need Misa Inez-Nisly to contact me. I have a package for her from Thomas Scientific. It cost someone $8.00 to have it shipped by UPS to our address--the alleged business location for Fracas Entertainment, Inc. The Partridge phone number given for Fracas Entertainment, Inc. is no longer in service.

Thomas Scientific commands respect. I quote from the blurb that comes up on Google when the company name is inserted: Thomas Scientific has been providing the latest in laboratory equipment, instruments, supplies and chemicals to the science community since 1900. The originator of the Fracas Entertainment moniker is another matter.

The catalog inside the package was a hard-backed volume about three inches thick and very heavy--a notch bigger and heavier than the Merriam-Webster Collegiate Dictionary at my desk at school.

"Blogger, get a life," someone painted on our straw bales last summer. I'm thinking that someone out there hasn't yet figured out how to follow their own advice.

Let us pray--before a fracas develops that would provide unholy entertainment for anyone watching.

Lost Book--For Locals

2012-01-10T05:06:00.000-08:00

The first Home Environment class of the semester meets today, and one of my key source books is missing from my personal collection. I've frequently loaned out my books, with too little tracking of their whereabouts, so I'm begging for its prompt return if my book happens to reside in someone else's personal library at the moment.

Having just returned from a trip that ate up my last few days of doing school work during Christmas break, I'm slightly panicked about launching this class in a motivating way.

Here are the specs: Patterns of Home: The Ten Essentials of Enduring Design. Authors: Max Jacobson, Murray Silverstein, Barbara Winslow.

The book refines and consolidates the principles found in another book A Pattern Language. That book is present and available in my personal collection. It's a seminal volume on applying organizational systems to complex tasks. I suppose I should be appreciating the irony of such a book benefiting from refinement and consolidation, and the further irony of having it in my collection with no noticeable effect on my library-tracking skills.

Patterns of Home is available in our local public library. If Hiromi can pick it up today, I'll use it to get by for the present.

Travel Plans

2012-01-05T10:31:00.000-08:00

I now have plans to fly to Esther Kuepfer's funeral, along with my sisters Linda and Lois, and Lois' husband Marvin, who orchestrated the arrangements. Marvin attributes the success of the arrangements in large part to the extraordinary helpfulness of an agent for the airline we'll be flying with--AA. I attribute it to Marvin's generosity and hard work as well, and, most of all, to the blessing of God.

Hiromi was originally scheduled to go instead of Linda. He offered her his place, however, when he realized how much we would have to ask of others to fill in if we were both gone. We all realized that Linda had been a long time friend of Esther's while they both lived at Mission Home, and that it would mean a great deal to her to be able to attend.

Unexpectedly, Wal-Mart proved to be very helpful in Hiromi making arrangements to be excused from work. He just needed to make a phone call on both days he would have had to take off. If the death had been of an immediate family member, he would have had his scheduled work hours paid just as if he had showed up for work.

Clarissa, our newest daughter-in-law, is helping out at Mom and Dad's--seeing that Mom's meds are taken on schedule, etc. and other family members are helping otherwise as needed--all filling in for Linda.

Thanks to each one who is making this possible.

I understand that the following people from here also plan to attend: Norma Miller (my co-teacher, who is flying from Dallas today with Craig and Rachel), Lorne, Grace, and Frieda Kuepfer, Joe, Twila, and Daniel Yoder, and Trish Bontrager. Laverne and Rebecca Miller and Gary and Rosanna Miller both have children married to someone in Mark and Esther's family, but neither of them are in Kansas right now. I suspect they might find their way to the funeral as well.

We plan to leave Wichita at 10:30 AM Friday and return there at 8:30 PM Monday. The Virginia destination is Richmond.

*******************

After Shane and Dorcas (in Illinois) got word of Dorcas' mother's death, in consultation with the owner of the semi, they started heading toward home (Kansas) again via St. Louis. Near St. Louis, they picked up a load and continued to head west.

Around the same time they started heading for home, Eric G. headed east with Shane's car. Somewhere west of St. Louis they met, swapped vehicles and directions, and continued to drive. Shane and Dorcas were scheduled to arrive at Mission Home after 6:00 this morning. How much after 6:00 depended on how often and how long they had to stop. I haven't heard, but trust they arrived safely.

The two couples Shane and Dorcas were scheduled to meet in IN plan to attend Esther's funeral, and the three couples might try to arrange to spend a bit of time together early next week.

******************

Esther's daughter Ruth posted on Facebook today:

I never believed there were holes in the floor of heaven before ...

I'm not sure what all she meant by that, but Shane told me last night that in the last few minutes of Esther's life she called out, "Mom!" Perhaps it's clearer to her family now than it was then, but Shane said that they didn't know whether it was an exclamation because of who she was seeing, or if it was a confused call for help. She had fallen and Ruth and Mark rushed to help her. She was gone within five minutes.

As Wes said when he called back to tell me that I should plan to go to the funeral with no worries about school: "God rest her soul."

A Fresh Grief

2012-01-04T07:20:00.000-08:00

Shane called this morning to tell us that Dorcas' mother, Esther Kuepfer, from Mission Home, VA died. She was about 58.

Later we got the church's call chain message saying that the death had occurred at 5:30 this morning. She was diagnosed in May with cancer. At that time its presence was confirmed in her lungs and spine. Since then, evidence showed that it had spread to her brain as well. No treatment was advised at any time, except for some initial radiation to shrink the tumor on her spine in hopes of retaining function below her waist. That had the desired effect.

Shane, Dorcas, and two-month-old Tristan are somewhere in Illinois en route to Indiana in a semi. The plan had been to meet this evening with Josh and Misty from here at the home of Shane's cousin, Kevin, who lives in the Goshen area with his wife and baby boy. The men were friends since their youth days and have decided to try to get together once a year. This year the reunion was to be at Kevin's house.

Shane is doing some trucking this winter while his basement construction job is on hold for the winter. All going together to Indiana in the semi was one way to make this trip pay instead of being a drain on finances.

Funeral plans have not been announced.

When we talked to Shane, they were still trying to decide how to proceed. We're all very glad that the little family is together. If Dorcas and the baby were here and Shane were on the road, all sorts of complications would be present that are eliminated this way.

Hiromi had said earlier that he thinks if Esther died, we would want to consider going to the funeral. This morning he was back to his reflexive travel stance. This is how our conversation went this morning:

Me: Do you think we should try to find a way to go to the funeral?

Hiromi: I don't think so.

Me (remembering Hiromi's earlier sentiments) : Why are you saying that?

Hiromi: I don't know.

Me: Reflexive behavior?

Hiromi: Yeah.

I'm checking out possibilities for catching a ride with someone. We agree that we don't have a vehicle that should go, and we don't have money to fly. Meanwhile, Hiromi is noting that "You don't have school till Monday, so going would be no problem," and I'm saying that's an over-simplification. So you see how it goes: stellar communication and well-thought-out stances all around.

Joel and Hilda and David and Susanna, who all thought they would want to go to Esther's funeral, now have plans to have their son and brother Angelo and his wife Anna come for this weekend. They live in Boston and aren't often home, so it seems likely that they will stay home instead of making the trip. My co-teacher, Norma, is a dear friend of Rachel's and is considering making the trip, perhaps connecting with Craig and Rachel to fly out of Dallas, so that she can help care for the babies.

*****************

Dorcas has two siblings, Rachel (married to Craig Miller--LaVerne's) and Joe (married to Marilyn Miller--Gary's) who live here and attend our church. An older sister, Ruth, and two younger brothers, Tim and TJ, are presently at home with Mark in Virginia.

Craig and Rachel are in Texas on a family vacation with Craig's extended family. They have a one year old, and twin daughters who were born last summer. Craig and Rachel have spent most of their married life in Thailand, but came home in May to be with her family initially. Mark had asked that all the children come home at that time, believing that it would be a time when Esther could still enjoy having them there. Each of the children has gone home at least once since then--Craig and Rachel in October, Shane and Dorcas in late November and early December, and Joe and Marilyn over Christmas. Ruth returned home in mid-December after having been in Thailand at IGO for their 2012 term.

A special gift was the privilege Mark and Esther had to travel to Kansas to see their twin granddaughters while they were still tiny.

Esther also learned to know Tristan when he was about a month old. I saw a picture of her holding him. They were looking into each other's eyes and smiling broadly at each other. Two people, bound together by flesh and blood, one so recently entered into the land of the living, and the other, so soon leaving--but coming together briefly between eternity past and future, enjoying a tiny taste of the bliss that is now Esther's forever. . . . What a treasure.

Records and Names

2012-01-02T07:27:00.000-08:00

That silly little story about one Amishman's creative use of the buggy whip garnered 547 hits on my blog on the day my nephew Hans linked to it on Facebook. That's a personal record. Hint: make friends with Hans, and tickle his funny bone if you're seeking to claim that 15 minutes of fame we're always hearing about and feeling entitled to.

One of the nicest bits of fallout from that flurry of blog activity was getting acquainted with Sherry Gore, author and magazine publisher from Pinecraft, FL. We have friends in common, it turns out, and her bishop's wife, Ruth, grew up in our church. She was best friends with my sister Clara. They made up one of the three sister-friend pairs between our family and Fred and Mary Nisly's: Martha and Lois, Esther and Dorcas, and Ruth and Clara. (Just noticed--all Bible names except for Clara, who was the namesake of my grandmother Miller.)

********************

Family name patterns (or the lack thereof) are fascinating. I keep trying to discern motives or patterns or whatever. That's probably a bit obsessive of me, but it's cheap entertainment.

In the Nisly family, the other names were Mark, Mary Jane, Miriam, and Maynard, the oldest. I wonder if there was an epiphany after the firstborn had been named, and a resolve to be more Biblical thereafter. But maybe it just happened that way.

What about the family with six boys--Joshua, Jeffrey, Matthew, Jacob, Michael Jon, and Jordan? Was the plan at the beginning to stick with J's, then a reconsideration after Matthew seemed like a good choice? Maybe Michael Jon was named to keep Matthew from feeling singled out. Of course, it might have been much more random than that. I'm told that "Mom" had innocently suggested Michael Jordan at one point, but when her more knowledgeable older children howled with laughter in recognition of someone they knew whom she did not, "Jon" was substituted for "Jordan." The next baby boy got the leftover half of the first proposal.

I can still recite the amazing achievement of Melvin and Alma, who had a whole family of children whose initials were MMM: (I wonder how they marked their underwear.) Melvin Merle, Michael Morgan, Maynard Milton, and Myrna Marlene.

Did the Beachy Amish parents of James Dean and Lisa Marie know about their entertainment-industry counterparts?

People would no doubt have trouble finding a pattern in our name choices, for that matter. One Old Testament prophet (Joel), one Irish name echoed in a Western movie title featuring a star by the same name (Shane), and one last-name-of-a-president (Grant). Their middle names are David, Michael, and Nathan--all Bible names. (Whew! Finally a pattern.) The only intentional pattern was to have first names that are simple to understand, pronounce, and spell. With a last name like ours, that seemed prudent. I suppose we could have been a bit more creative, as some apparently love to be, and spelled the names Jowell, Shayne, and Grhant, which would, of course, have been as ridiculous and ostentatious as it looks.

Still, our children's names are reasonable, given who we are and what we value. Joel is a good sturdy name--not over-used, and carrying echoes of Hiromi's devotion to ferreting out the intricacies of Biblical history and languages. It has Hebrew origins, as does my name, Miriam, the Hebrew form of Mary in Greek and Maria in Latin.

Shane is the Irish form of John, the middle name Hiromi chose for himself when he became an American citizen. The name choice sounds a little less pious from here on. Hiromi chose John for himself because of John Wayne, a Western movie star he admired. And he also liked the movie "Shane," and can still quote the ending line, spoken by a little boy calling out to a cowboy riding off into the sunset: "Come back, Shane." I had a college classmate named Shane. All I really remember about him was that he was over seven feet tall and did not play basketball. "Shane" was the first name Hiromi and I thought of that we could both agree on--again, not over-used among our circle of friends, and with a connection to his father's name.

Grant's birth occurred while we were in the process of transitioning to a different phase of our purchase agreement on our three-acre home site west of Partridge. We went from land contract to mortgage, at which point we briefly were in possession of the title of the property and found that it had passed into private hands when it was purchased from Ulysses S. Grant, president of the United States. I read over the title shortly before Grant was born and looked up at Hiromi: "Grant. How would you like that for a first name?" He agreed--a great relief after the many suggestions of mine he had shot down in previous naming discussions. (Veto power in evidence; initiative, not so much, at those times--sparing me from the veto role, at least.)

Middle names? David, after my dad, because Joel was the first grandson. Michael, because "Andrew" would have had too many "N's" when paired with Shane. Nathan because it sounded OK and sort of went with Joel's OT prophet name.

This community now has a younger Joel, Shane, and Grant. I'm pleased that the names are still not overused, but at least three sets of parents have approved of one of our choices and used it for their own child, and that feels OK.

All I Want for Christmas

2011-12-31T03:31:00.001-08:00

"What do you want for Christmas?" I asked Hiromi the other day.

"Nothing." And then by way of lavish explanation he added, "Save money." I wasn't surprised. He wasn't surprised either with my question actually coming after Christmas. I had suggested earlier that we host our children's families sometime around New Year's Day and do our gift giving to them at that time. If our children objected, they kept it to themselves, so we're planning for them to be here for Sunday dinner and then to stay throughout the afternoon and evening. Well ahead of 5:00, we'll haul out the many veggies that need preparation for sukiyaki and gyoza and prepare the meat for those dishes. At some point we'll defrost the mochi and set up an assembly line for filling and pinching the gyoza wrappers (for dumplings). It will be New Year's Day, after all, and Hiromi's sister and family are coming for the annual New Year's Day feast of Japanese food. Chee is making and bringing the maki sushi.

Hiromi's sister has announced that she's too old to host these events. We've been taking turns, but no more, apparently. It's OK. She's twelve years older than Hiromi, but is not as fortunate as we are to have three helpful sons, each with a very helpful spouse. She also had three children, but none of them have ever helped with food preparation for these events. Her son, the only one who really loved all the Japanese foods, died in his late 40s.

**********************

Hiromi is actually a generous gift giver. While I'm still looking for a band to fix my old watch, he comes home with a new watch for me. If, while I'm looking at a large used and reasonably priced set of Ecko Eterna Bastille flatware on ebay, I make wistful noises about the old and mismatched flatware we've always used for everyday, he says, "Get it." (I knew I liked that kind because my mom had given me a few pieces, and I noticed that they felt good in my hand--balanced, comfortable handles, no sharp edges--except on the knife blade where it was supposed to be that way. They were also very heavy and sturdy--no danger of bent fork tines and spoon handles as sometimes happens with cheap stamped flatware.)

Hiromi usually does not particularly associate gift giving with special occasions. That is where we differ. I'm not overly generous at any time, or attuned to what others need, and I really benefit from a special event to jog my memory into pondering the needs of others. Having grown up learning to do without, I often have a hard time identifying and acting on supplying my own needs, let alone those of others.

The controversies about exactly how gift giving commercializes Christmas largely pass me by. Memory jogs are not fraught with moral implications, as I see it.

I'm not above handing out a few memory jogs of my own, so I spelled it out for Hiromi the other day. All I want for Christmas is for someone to move the treadmill up from the downstairs into Grant's old bedroom. Then I'd like equipment set up in there so that I can listen to CDs and watch DVDs from The Teaching Company. We already have everything needed to make that happen, except manpower and vision--and wide enough doorways to allow the treadmill behemoth to pass through intact. Two courses on writing are begging for my attention. I also have stored calories in the form of adipose tissue begging for attention. My proposal is the perfect solution to both.

Another thing I want for Christmas is the chance to play a proper game of Scrabble. Dig or Take One are not the same for me--too focused on speed and five-and-ten-cent words--not contemplation and interesting words. Hiromi's generosity does not extend to playing Scrabble with me. I understand. I wouldn't do so well in a Japanese-language crossword game, so he gets a pass on an English one.

**********************

Today we're off on a shopping trip to Wichita. Not to Kohl's or Sam's Club or thrift stores, as others talk of doing. We're hitting Asian grocery stores, and perhaps finishing up at one of the Dillons deli/cafes that sell sushi. I'm still finishing up the hand stitching on the binding of the small comforter-style playmat I'm giving Tristan, so I'll take that along to do on the way. And I'll take the Rural Roots booklet and a highlighter to mark corrections that need to be made before we print the second edition. As always, an embarrassing number of such things shows up--several in the introduction, which I wrote. "Progress--not perfection." (Flylady)

Travels and Babies

2011-12-29T18:49:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about traveling. No, not like that. I'm not in the process of going from here to anyplace else. I'm thinking about the idea of traveling. And what I'm thinking is probably not a smart thing to write about, given the fact that I have beloved family members in the travel industry. I am not upset at them, or jealous, or anything like that. Definitely not.

For a number of months I've been wondering if traveling has become for many up and coming young Mennonites an unexamined value. It sometimes seems as though people have stopped asking if it's a good idea. It appears that they assume that if the money is there and the collateral damage left behind at the point of departure is minimal . . . why would anyone question its value? Cheap tickets? Off and away!

Disclaimer: Hiromi can talk himself out of traveling even before the idea occurs to him. When taking a trip together occurs to me first, he reflexively tries to talk both of us out of it. That often leaves me looking for a way to be happy without traveling. Sometimes, though, we end up going somewhere together and having a good time. Money is always an issue, so even if we'd like to do it again soon, it doesn't happen because we can't afford it. Most of the time that doesn't bother us.

So what's the guideline?

When the money is not there and/or our absence inconveniences others to an unseemly degree, we probably ought to stay home--unless someone away from home is in dire need of our presence, or it's very clear that we can be a bigger blessing by going away than staying home. Beyond that, going or staying ought both to be considered by first having a conversation with God. He might have an opinion, and if He did, we ought to want to know.

*************************

I've been noticing babies a lot recently, and I've come to agree with my sister-in-law, Rhoda, who says she thinks they're always cute. I wasn't so very sure at first, but I think she's right. A baby really can't be ugly. The innocence, the eyes, the soft skin and hair, the chubby cheeks, and oftentimes the ready smiles are really irresistible. I don't care for the distraction of big bows and flowers and whatever-it-is that often gets stuck on the heads of baby girls. Then, all I can see is the artificial stuff--unless I really concentrate. I'd rather see the God-made little face--the gateway to the personality--without distractions. Anything so beautiful needs no further decoration.

Granted, a hyperactive mind and an aversion to ostentation are not everyone's lot in life, as they are mine, so probably not everyone agrees with me. Perhaps another consensus would be easier to achieve: Simplicity and modesty always create a suitable "frame" for an intricate work of art; an ornate frame draws attention to itself and detracts from the "painting."

What Not to Do to a Buggy Driver

2011-12-27T09:52:00.000-08:00

This story made it to the Miller Christmas gathering via my brother Ronald, who heard it from his friend in Plain City. The Plain City friend has a wife from Holmes County where this story allegedly happened. I don't know for sure, but I think Ronald must have told Bill when he and Dorcas and Maria stopped at Ron's house in Labette County on their way from North Carolina to Kansas. Ronald was not present at our Christmas gathering, but Bill was.

As I heard and remember the story, two brothers were taking turns "test driving" a buggy horse, possibly just being broke. When the first brother was out on the road, he encountered a vehicle with two people in it. While one of them drove, the other "mooned" the buggy driver.

Before the next brother took his turn on the road with the horse and buggy, the first one told him about what had happened. While the second brother was taking his turn he saw an identical situation developing--same vehicle, two people, passing him, then turning around and coming back. With the advantage of being forewarned, the buggy driver made a few preparations for what he was pretty sure would happen next.

Just as the vehicle came abreast and the unwelcome sight presented itself, he brought the business end of his buggy whip down smartly on the exposed portion of that person's anatomy. The two conveyances were traveling in opposite directions at the time, but he saw that the "mooney" vehicle turned around and prepared to come up behind him again. The buggy driver found it prudent at that moment to turn off the road into the driveway of his friends' home. The car followed the buggy part way into the driveway and sat there for a time, with its occupants probably fuming or smarting or both. Then it left.

Afterward, when the story circulated at Schrock's, where a lot of Amish men are employed, someone thought to ask a respected Amish preacher whether that was a nonresistant thing to do--with the buggy whip.

His answer was priceless: "Vell . . . von 's gadue wa in dee leevee." (Well . . . if it was done in love.)

Help Needed on Printing Problem

2011-12-24T07:29:00.000-08:00

I need someone more tech savvy and more business savvy to help me figure something out. I'm appealing to my reading audience for help. I'm not sure if all the details below are necessary, but since I don't know which ones are necessary, I'll try to include what I recall.

Yesterday I said here that there were some unfortunate printing glitches in the booklet published by our composition class. I did not name the printer, but it was a well-known office supply store with a printing shop--part of a chain. We paid $275.00 for the printing.

This morning, when Stephen was here to get a few things for finishing setting up the sales displays, he saw a sheaf of clipped-together papers with the booklet cover on top. "What's that?" he asked.

"It's the booklet--what I printed out at school before we got the copies back from _________." (I had done this just in case something terrible happened with the electronic copy.) Then something clicked for me--something I had never thought of in the hulabaloo of getting things done yesterday. "Hey, let's look at that and see if the numbering is right on that copy." It was. Perfect. The perfect copy was printed directly from my thumb drive--the same file I had emailed the printer. I had not changed anything on that file after I got to school except adding leader lines on one line in the Table of Contents. I suddenly felt vindicated and wanted all the students to know that WE had done our part in getting this right. The picture of the cutter barge in Stephen's "Farm" section was there too--perfect.

I had emailed the print shop the files from home before they opened in the morning. Then I called after they opened and talked to someone in the copy shop to see if the file could be read, etc. __________ affirmed that it looked good. It was in OpenOffice format--the only word processing program the students have access to on the school's computers.

The students had saved their documents in a folder called Composition 2011 on the school's server. They were formatted in their final form but still needed some editing. (The document format called for landscape orientation, two columns, a one-inch trough in the middle, and 1/2 inch margins otherwise.)

I saved the Composition 2011 folder to my thumb drive and brought it home to work on here. That evening, I made some editing changes on the individual files. After all the editing changes were made I copied the individual files to a new one called Rural Roots--the title of the booklet. The Table of Contents had been formatted also--by a student, so I followed the "story" order on the Table of Contents in transferring the individual files to the Rural Roots folder.

After everything was in one file (the Rural Roots one) I started at the beginning and added page numbers to the bottom of each column. (Each column was to be a page in the assembled booklet.) This necessitated making some more changes because I needed to move the bottom line of text so that I had a blank line for entering the number. I kept shoving lines out ahead of me--to the next column or page--as I went, making sure to not leave orphan lines at the bottom of each page. Automated numbering did not work because if I had added a footer to contain the number, it would have spanned both columns, with a number precisely in the middle--right where the booklet fold was happening.

I checked and double-checked the page numbering to make sure they were still all properly aligned after I had entered the "indexed" page numbers on the Table of Contents page--something that had not been possible till I had actually entered the numbers in the Rural Roots document. Previous to this I had added several other pages--an introduction, an inside title page also listing the student authors, and two section title pages between several of the stories. I started the numbering after those pages were in place in the Rural Roots document. Those front pages were not included in the numbering sequence.

Two students picked up the copies from the printer and came back disappointed because of the problems they had discovered. They talked to the copy shop person on duty about what they saw, and he said " ___________ printed them just the way 'she' (referring to me) sent them in." I figured it was, in fact, a result of my not having caught a little change that happened at the beginning of the document before I sent it in--which would have knocked all the number alignments off by one or more lines. Discovery of the "perfect" copy makes me wonder. . . . Did the copy shop worker do what I blamed myself for doing--making a small, unnoticed change at the beginning of the document, throwing off the alignment?

I have several questions:

Could different versions of OpenOffice account for the differences in my printed version and theirs?

Is it reasonable to pursue getting any compensation from them for what looks like their mess-up?

How can we avoid this happening in the future?

Survivors

2011-12-23T17:12:00.000-08:00

That whooshing sound you hear is me exhaling in a long sigh. It's over. The semester. I got home from school a little before dark--in time to feed the sheep and check the mail and lug everything in from the van--taffy cooking supplies, some delicious food treats, my book bag containing stacks of unchecked papers. But I'm going to bed tonight without setting an alarm for tomorrow. We have a two-week vacation ahead.

My comp students and I have been working madly to finish up the book we have dubbed Rural Roots: Life in the Pleasantview Area from 1920-1945. We stapled it together today and folded the booklets and are prepared to make them available on Sunday, Christmas Day. We're letting people take booklets without paying since it's on a Sunday. People should also sign their name and take an envelope for making their payment later. The booklet has over 50 pages.

We were disappointed with some of the glitches in the printing process. One of the pictures we had included was missing. Also, the page numbers . . . (Doing this is a nightmare in OpenOffice--just so you know.) moved around after I had repeatedly checked to see that they were NOT moved, resulting in some pages having text lines below the page number at the bottom of the page. ARRRRGGGHH. Christy's nicely done Table of Contents had a crooked lineup at the right margin after I inserted the numbers, and in the process of experimenting with correcting it, I seriously messed up the first page number entry. We're still gamely presenting the book, despite its flaws, but we did insert an apology for the glitches on the publicity signs.

Our long-reach stapler did not seem up to the task today when we were working together to get the stapling job done. We finally all stopped what we were doing and prayed about it together. Shortly thereafter Stephen and Brandon figured out that the long stapling arm was shifting slightly on the down stroke and causing staples to go awry instead of straight through the sheets as they were intended to do. After that, one strong young man immobilized the back end of the stapler arm while the other smashed those staples through where they were supposed to go.

You'll want to buy the booklet for the stories anyway--not for the chance to inspect the staples and the page numbers. And those stories are good! Just to whet your appetite, here are some of the titles: The Harness That Made History, A Badger Evens the Score, Tracks of a Forgotten Trail, Beef Rings--A Community Project, Forays Off the Farm, Highways and Byways From the Past, Memorable Tragic Happenings, A Peddler's Buggy.

In the section that deals with memories organized by topic, the titles are: Bookshelves and Bishops, China Dolls and Yellow Roses, CPS/FDR/WPA spells HOPE, The Diversity of Self-Sufficient Farms, Going Places, A Lively Labor-Filled Life, Peddlers and Shippers, Transporting Farm Products, Jackrabbits, and Dust.

All sorts of amazing connections emerged when we heard the stories, investigated further, and retold them. John Mast had a hilarious story about an ill-fated get-rich-quick plan he and his brothers hatched during the Depression. Read all about it in "A Badger Evens the Score." It involved employment on the farm of a man who turned out to be the father-in-law of my sixth grade teacher.

One little Headings boy who used to live at the Ed Conkling farm (1 1/4 mile south of our place) died during an illness he had at the same time my grandfather Levi was also very sick. Ed Nisly was the third little boy in the community who was visited by Dr. McCoy from Partridge on the same night. On his way home from these evening visits the doctor drove his horse and buggy in front of a train at the crossing on Herren Road and was killed. That happened before the time period targeted in our booklet, but we included it anyway in a section that dealt with health, home remedies, etc. The son of that doctor was an eye doctor whom some of my siblings had seen in Hutchinson when they needed their eyes checked. (My mom liked to take her children there as soon as she figured out that he was slower to prescribe glasses than most eye doctors.) He lived in the "Plantation House" on West Fourth at one time.

Vernon Yoder, who was so fast at ciphering that he usually had the answer as soon as he was finished writing the problem was the deceased husband of Marilyn, who Paul and Edith and I visited in Indiana after Susanna's dad's funeral. Vernon was Paul's older brother, and Marilyn was his sister-in-law.

I learned about the accidental shooting of Albert Helmuth, who was my grandmother's step brother. She was pregnant with my twin uncles at the time, and needed bed rest to avoid a miscarriage, the threat thought to have been triggered by the stress surrounding the accident. I heard about Amos Nisly's childhood sorrow upon hearing of the death of his dear friend and cousin, little Roman Nisly, who died in a lightening strike while he was taking a bath in a metal tub at the base of the windmill over the washhouse, and I thought of Shane when his friend Andrew died.

Over and over we heard about truly hard times. I thought of that today when I heard some of my typing students talking about the Christmas gifts they were giving or had gotten in the past. They weren't talking about a little candy and an orange . . .

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The taffy tradition at school would certainly be doomed if it never went better than it did today. The simple fact was that I was trying to do too many things at once and it got cooked too hard. Some of the minor ingredients that get added near the end of the cooking time didn't get added at all because the taffy was overdone as soon as typing class was over. I don't know how this happened. I had written in notes from previous years that in order to get the taffy done by dismissal time it should be started cooking at 12:30. We did that, but it got done far sooner than I expected. Since there was no one free to hover over it as it was cooking, the problem went undiscovered till it was too late.

While some were pulling taffy, some of the rest of us were still obssessing over getting the booklets stapled together, so I was not present to witness all the distresses with the project. Not a proud moment.

Next year we definitely need to have someone come in to help cook the taffy if we have a similar class schedule as this year.

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I would vote for dismissing school at noon without keeping on right up until Christmas weekend. I'd much rather return to school in the week following New Year's Day than having that whole week off and no time off before Christmas. At least, the high school and grade school ought to be able to get on the same page with dismissal time before vacation. As it was, four high school students had absconded before dismissal time today--one of them more than a week ago. The rigidity of the ACE privilege system based on a full five-day week is a powerful driving force for not trimming off any days or hours from a standard school week. What to do?

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Norma looked at me at the end of the day today and said, "We're survivors." Exactly. I'm sure the students feel the same way--the ones that worked extra hard, at least.

Storytelling and Memories Event

2011-12-14T19:55:00.000-08:00

Oh my. These are interesting times. Stories of the 1920s, 30s and 40s are cartwheeling through my brain, fresh from the lips and pens of the senior citizens of our church community--17 of them who were invited to a Memories and Storytelling event Joe Y.'s, Lowells, and I organized. It was held at Center this past Monday evening. Before they came the seniors had filled out questionnaires, or, in some cases, their capable children had listened for answers and then written them down.

All of the storytellers were over 80 and had spent most or all their life living here. Many had been identified by the students in my composition class as being someone with whom they had a connection, either as a relative or friend. Others were invited because we believed their family should be represented or because they are known to have a good memory or good storytelling skills. John Mast, who is about 95 years old, was the star storyteller. He is nearly blind and deaf, but far from being mute. After someone went home to retrieve the hearing aids he had forgotten, he followed the prompts he needed, and provided great amusement for everyone, telling stories with gusto and aplomb. It's an interesting role for a retired Old Order Amish bishop.

I was proud of my students, who listened attentively, and wrote busily when they needed to be doing so.

We had assigned eight specific stories to be told by members of the seniors group. Each member of the class is to retell one of these stories for the community writing project (CWP) the class is working on from now till the end of the semester. In addition, I had divided my questions for the seniors into eight categories, and each student is to write an essay covering one category for the CWP. During the public event, the seniors added to each others' memories as Lowell went down the list of questions and answers and commented on highlights, and solicited specifics where the answers had covered only generalities.

I'm afraid the stories will have to wait. It's time for bed--and the students and I really want you to buy the booklet. If all goes well, it will be available by Christmas, for $5.00. The pages are the size of a half sheet of paper, and the book will likely have 30-60 pages.

For those who care, I've listed the 16 seniors who were present. My uncle Edwin had answered some questions but was not able to attend.

Elizabeth "Lizzie"Schrock

Elizabeth "Lizzie" Wagler

Barbara Yoder

Vera Nisly

Sadie Nisly

Mary Yoder

Orpha Miller

Fannie Nisly

Melvin Nisly

William Nisly

Amos Nisly

Sam D. Nisly

Fred Nisly

David L. Miller

Perry Miller

John Mast

Egg Roll Recipe

2011-12-11T17:43:00.001-08:00

The egg rolls made from the recipe below were served at our house today and met with my family's approval. I'm posting this recipe at Carolyn's request. I did everything yesterday except wrap and fry the egg rolls.

Egg Rolls--Iwashige Version

1 1-lb. package egg roll wraps--about 21 count (Make sure they are the Asian rather than the Italian kind. The Italian ones are thicker.)

Main Ingredients for Filling:

1 lb. Ground pork or seasoned sausage (I used Shane's medium hot seasoned sausage.)

2 cups cabbage, finely chopped (about 1/2 head)

½ cup carrot, shredded (about 1 carrot)

1/4 lb. Bean sprouts, chopped coarsely (1-1 1/2 cup)

3 green onions, finely sliced, tops and all

2 cloves garlic, minced

10 Shiitake* mushrooms (If dried, rehydrate and chop, discarding stems. If sliced before drying, use 1 c.), optional

1 8 oz. Can bamboo shoots, optional (Cut the short strips into about 3 pieces)

1 8 oz. Can sliced water chestnuts, optional (Cut the slices into "matchsticks.")

Seasonings

Most of the following items can be purchased in the Asian foods section of a big grocery store.

½ t. monosodium glutamate (Some people avoid this as a matter of principle. Accent is an American brand name.)

1 t. sesame oil (Made from toasted sesame seeds)

1 t. grated fresh gingerroot (From the produce section.)

2 ½ t. soy sauce (Kikkoman brand is the authentic Japanese kind.)

1 T. Mirin (sweet rice wine for cooking)

2 T. Oyster sauce

If not using seasoned sausage, add:

1/4 t. red pepper

1/4 t. black pepper

Salt, to taste (May not need any with the soy sauce and the sausage seasoning.)

Binding Agent:

2 t. Mira-clear

3 T. Water

To seal wrappers:

2 T. Flour

enough water to make a paste

The general idea for this order of tasks is to get the little picky things done before tackling the bigger jobs.

Re-hydrate shiitake by soaking in warm water.

In a separate small bowl, combine water and Mira-clear.

In another bowl, combine all seasonings.

Drain bamboo shoots and water chestnuts. Cut into smaller pieces as directed above.

Peel and grate gingerroot.

Mince garlic.

Chop cabbage, shred carrots, and slice green onions. Wash and coarsely chop bean sprouts.

Fry ground pork or sausage in crumbles. Put aside to drain.

Stir-fry all raw veggies together.

Remove a portion for those who have food allergies. (This is a necessity in our extended family.)

Add chopped mushrooms, bamboo shoots, water chestnuts, and browned sausage.

Drain cooked veggies very thoroughly.

Return to pan and add seasonings and binder. Cook together briefly. Taste for salt and adjust if needed.

Cool filling thoroughly before wrapping. (I refrigerated it overnight.)

Wrapping:

Put 2 T. Filling in the bottom corner of each square wrapper. Fold up the bottom of the wrapper over the filling and fold over again. Then fold in the two corners at the side and give one more turn. With you finger, paint “sealer” around the remaining exposed edges and finish wrapping. The roll should be tight, with no big air pockets or open edges.

If egg rolls are to be wrapped ahead of time, the layers should be separated with parchment or waxed paper. They can also be frozen. They should be frozen in a single layer and then put together in a bag for freezing.

Frying:

Preheat oil to 350 degrees. (The oil is ready if a bread cube fries to a golden brown in 10 seconds.) Fry 4-6 egg rolls at a time–about 1 ½ minutes. Drain.

Sauces:

May serve with sweet and sour sauce (commercial), hot mustard (commercial), or homemade dipping sauce. See recipe below:

½ c. soy sauce

1/4 c. rice vinegar

4 t. sesame oil

2-4 drops “hot” oil

2 cloves garlic, minced.

The hot mustard and homemade sauces are our favorites.

All the adults helped each other wrap the egg rolls, and we fried some before the meal started. Then we kept on frying them all during the meal, since they're best when freshly fried. We made two batches for 8 adults and had three left, plus a bit of filling that we had no wrappers for. We served it with plain rice and Egg Drop Soup and salad.

Tips:

1. Make sure the filling is not too wet and not too warm. Either condition tends to make the egg rolls soggy.

2. Keep the wrapping tight to minimize seepage of oil into the filling, and to keep the filling from leaking out.

3. Make the preparation part of the party, and this process will seem less daunting.

*Shiitake is pronounced shee-ee-tahk-eh. It's usually sold dried, but may also be available fresh. The flavor is delectable, and it reportedly has many medicinal benefits.

Eggs Rolls, Eclipses, and Life and Death Matters

2011-12-10T07:00:00.000-08:00

Not satisfied with the egg roll recipe I produced from the Meals and Memories cookbook our family produced for my parents' 50th wedding anniversary, Hiromi is poring over his Japanese cookbooks for a better one. He's on cookbook number 5 at the moment. He's sure there must be more veggie options for the filling than cabbage and onion. If I was as strongly of this persuasion as he is, I would substitute carrots for part of the cabbage in my recipe, and forge ahead. He is obviously more painstaking than I.

We're planning an Iwashige family meal here tomorrow, and egg rolls with rice is the main dish.

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After many years of feeding birds here and often seeing Downy Woodpeckers in the trees, but never at the feeders, this past week I finally saw one at the feeder--several times. We've had an abundance of Red-Bellied Woodpeckers visiting for the past few years. I suspect that at most feeders the frequency of these visitors is reversed.

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For the Friday afternoon activity yesterday, everyone at the high school went to the grade school to observe the displays for their Knowledge Fair--an expansion of the Science Fair they've done the past few years. Some of the displays I remember featured different kinds of foods--cultured milk products, other naturally fermented foods, and surprising food ingredients.

I did a double-take at Dietrich's samurai display when I spied what I was pretty sure used to reside in Joel's bedroom--a set of Japanese swords. I was right. They were borrowed from Joel. Also in the weapons department, Travis displayed a trebuchet that he had built with his Dad's help. Think of it as a catapult, for demonstration purposes, launching tennis balls, hedge balls, or softballs--all in lime green--waaaaay out into the ball field. Pity the person who's standing out there to catch, not knowing which of the three is flying toward him this time.

Someone demonstrated the fanciest marble rolling device I have ever seen. It was reminiscent of a small building in an Asian architecture style, with two possible routes to the bottom, each containing various nifty structures to traverse on the way down. The marbles automatically moved back to the top under the power of a small electric motor that forced each marble up through a tube to the spill-out location at the top.

Quite a few students chose to feature a specific country, perhaps a country that someone in their family had visited or lived in for a time.

The public Knowledge Fair event actually didn't happen till the evening, so a few displays were not quite fully functional in the afternoon.

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I got up a little after 5:30 this morning and looked out windows on all sides of the house to see if I could spot the moon and see an eclipse. I hadn't ever seen exactly when it would be visible here, and when I finally found the moon in the west, through lots of tree branches, I wasn't desperate enough to get into warm clothes and troop outside to get an unobstructed view. I think I was probably several hours too late.

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An email from Cold Stream Nursery and a look at their website reminded me that I wanted some time to locate a source for thornless hedge (Osage Orange) trees. I found it at Sunshine Nursery in Western Oklahoma. Along with this, there are also Elms with resistance to Dutch Elm Disease and Elm Leaf Beetles. This nursery specializes in trees, shrubs, and perennials that thrive in a harsh environment. They are either native plants from the dry southern prairies or from areas with a climate similar to that of Western Kansas and Oklahoma.

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LaVon Bontrager was in very precarious shape one day last week when he needed surgery while his body was hosting an infection in his blood. Everyone was warned that his heart could stop during surgery under these conditions, and the surgery team had instructions from the family not to try to restart it if that happened.

The tumor on his liver is blocking the bile duct, and an external drain has not been able to keep up with getting rid of this toxic substance that a normal body disposes of harmlessly.

In what seems like strange terminology contortions, the tumor is apparently not considered cancerous--not malignant, but benign. It's clear, however, that he cannot survive long, outside of a miracle, because of how it interferes with normal liver function. Benign does not seem like the right word for this kind of tumor.

LaVon is 53. LaVon and Mamie's son Grant is still at home. Greg and Angelene are both married and have children. LaVon is a minister at the Arlington Amish Mennonite Church. He was first diagnosed with colon cancer perhaps five years ago. (Ironically, no matter the outcome, he will go down in statistics as being "cured" of cancer if he survives past the five year mark.) Several surgeries, chemotherapy, and making use of alternative approaches have given him some very good months, but also some very miserable times since then. He made a deliberate choice not to have any more chemotherapy when he was informed by his oncologist that chemotherapy for the rest of his life was the best option he could offer. LaVon concluded that there are some things worse than death, and for him chemotherapy was one of them.

***********************

Watching LaVon's journey inspires admiration for his acceptance of his own mortality. Understandably, it's harder for some of the rest of us to be at peace with what seems now to be inevitable.

I've been thinking in the past few days about how it is that fighting against disease can be a way to walk in obedience to God, and can result in God receiving glory, but giving up the fight and acquiescing to death can also be an act of obedience, and can also result in God receiving glory. Either choice, however, seems to have the potential for disobedience and selfishness.

For someone who has dependents or a surviving spouse, not being willing to have one more surgery that could result in many more years of good health--choosing death instead--is that a selfish choice? Or for the person without dependents, whose prospects for recovering health are dim, is it really best to pursue whatever medical interventions are offered as possibilities--at great cost in finances, stress, and discomfort? To choose an alternative route instead of more conventional treatment, or vice versa, to close one's mind to alternatives and pursue only conventional treatment? I don't know all the answers. Maybe I don't even know any answers.

I think I'll pray that God will make a course of action clear to me if I'm ever in a position where I need to make a life or death decision. I'll also continue to pray for others in that position now. Life and death are both too hard to face without God's help.

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Oh yes. On the egg rolls-- We've decided to add green onions, bean sprouts, shiitake mushrooms, maybe carrots and water chestnuts, fresh ginger, and garlic to the filling. We'll also add oyster sauce, and maybe a smidgen of rice wine, besides the soy sauce and hot pepper flakes that are already in the recipe. This will call for combining about four internet recipes with the "Plain Jane" recipe I already have. Sigh. I ought to be grading research papers instead.

Trivial Question for the Local Women

2011-12-10T06:17:00.000-08:00

About a week and a half ago, a commercial pattern appeared in our church mailbox. It was a Simplicity Babies' Layette pattern. I didn't recognize it as mine, so I left it in the mailbox for a while to see if someone else claimed it. No one did.

If it's mine, I loaned it out so long ago that I don't remember it. I know I haven't made any of the items in the pattern picture since before Joel was born, and I don't know if it was from this pattern or not. I'm sure I never made any of the cute girl dresses and bonnets pictured. If you're the person who put the pattern in my box I'd be glad to hear from you. If it was intended for someone else I'll be glad to pass it on.

Nesting Weather

2011-12-02T18:35:00.000-08:00

Rain on the dining room windows tells me that the weather forecast was on target. With temperatures just above freezing, we're on track to dodge the freezing rain disaster that was predicted earlier and set also to welcome slippery mud instead of fluffy snow. This early in the season, snow is still exciting, but the memory of unremitting drought last summer makes the rain beautiful, even though it lacks the pizzazz of snow. At least it soaks in where it falls, without dragging down power lines and tree limbs in the process, or blowing off the fields, while clogging the ditches and roadways.

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Shane's dog, Brandi, is supposed to have puppies soon. She doesn't look the slightest bit matronly to me--not even remotely ungainly or lethargic. We all hope she waits to do her thing till Shane gets back from Virginia, but, just in case, Hiromi has introduced her to the big pet carrier situated in the greenhouse, with an electric heating pad in the bottom. We locked her in there last night so she at least would get the idea that it's a good place to go to have puppies. Her preferred spot otherwise seems to be with Lexi, under the front porch. That would be decidedly inappropriate since there's no one in this household looking for an excuse to crawl under the porch to retrieve cold puppies.

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Today at school Jonny showed us a glimpse into his farmer life during the summer. We all trooped outside at 2:30 for the featured Friday afternoon activity: learning all about making hay. The 4040 John Deere was hooked up to a New Holland baler which produces big round bales. The family's custom haying equipment includes another similar tractor-baler combination, a swather, and a hay rake. Because the wind was bitterly cold today, we cut the outdoor observation part short and trooped inside where Jonny commandeered Norma's lectern and regaled us with tales of nighttime baling. Jonny confessed that he's not really a morning person, so heading out at 9:00 at night to do the baling is perfect, if the humidity is high enough by then to keep the leaves from falling off the stems, especially if he has a pack of crackers and a stash of Mountain Dew to keep him energized and awake. Daytime baling almost never happens here.

When I asked him if they ever bale anything besides alfalfa hay and wheat straw, I was surprised by the variety of other crops they bale. He mentioned cornstalks, milo stalks, tall sorghum (like sudan), grass hay, and soybeans. Occasionally wheat and oats (I think I'm right on this.) are swathed when the grain is in the milk stage, and they're baled for feed. Jonny didn't mention this, but I've seen it done, unlike the grass hay baling. I'm sure they're around somewhere, but I've never seen a hay field seeded to grass in our immediate area--or a clover field. The soil ph is much better suited to alfalfa than clover, and most of the grass is native, and grazed during the summer, while cultivated fields are used for crops more profitable than grass.

The family rule during haying is that no music plays in any tractor pulling a baler. When a bale is complete, beeps inside the cab announce the fact, and a series of prompt responses is called for to release the bale and allow it to roll out the back. Music might compromise the concentration and perhaps obscure the signals. Music is allowed in the swather and during the raking operation.

Jonny says it's embarrassing to go to sleep while baling, especially if you're working in a field adjoining US 50, where daylight reveals the results to passersby. If you don't straddle the windrows squarely, the bales get lopsided, and if you're too nearly unconscious to respond promptly to the beeps, you might get some monster bales--neither of which are great advertisements for a custom haying operation. In your own field it's not a customer satisfaction problem, of course, but the motivation to move the bales off the field in a hurry kicks in nonetheless.

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Hiromi met two elderly Japanese ladies who came separately through the WalMart checkout line today. He thought he knew all the old Japanese ladies in town, but he didn't know these. They initiated Japanese conversation, probably after recognizing the Japanese name on his name tag. The ladies he knows came to this area during the same time period when his sister Chee (Chizuko) came after the Korean war.

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Hiromi also met Lynn yesterday, the brother-in-law of Hiromi's niece. He informed Hiromi that he is about to become a father again. Their youngest child is 18. Now that would take some mental adjustment. We learned to know Lynn a long time ago when he lived in Partridge, never dreaming at that time that we would someday have relatives in common. A sister in the family was a co-worker of Hiromi's at TSW--another surprising development.

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The number of guests at our singing last Sunday was far more manageable than was the case last time: 19 this time; 40 last time. Some families were away from home, and others had family events that conflicted. If we had known how small the group would be, we wouldn't have bothered rearranging and moving out furniture, and we would have trucked home fewer benches from the church. But it was rather nice to have everyone fit into the dining room for singing, and the small room and compact arrangement made the singing sound good.

As usual, I spied several glaring oversights in the decluttering department after the evening was over, but I decided it hadn't mattered. Who says a naked refrigerator is better than a recipe, coupon, and photo-plastered one, anyway? And the bathroom towels? Hiromi's blue one and my green one belong right there on the shower curtain rod, after all.

Linda and especially Marian had helped a lot in getting ready, and Joel and Hilda helped late Sunday afternoon with hauling benches and preparing food. Heartfelt gratitude to them . . .

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Comp students are working on their research papers. As soon as that is done, we'll launch right into the community writing project. If you notice any class members wandering around glassy-eyed, it may be a sleep-deprivation problem.

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Hiromi wishes Shane's cattle would be a little more scared of him than they are. They're way too glad to see him when he appears with a grain bucket, and they crowd around with no regard for the significant size mismatch that puts Hiromi at a disadvantage. I worry about the bull in the herd, but Shane says he's more docile than some of the cows. I'm glad they cattle are Dexter-sized and not Gelbvieh-sized.

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One of our guineas disappeared without a trace. I heard a big owl hooting in the trees near the house the other night. Maybe he's the culprit. Or maybe it was the coyote Brian saw heading for our place the other night. The guilty predator would be easier to identify if it was clear whether the deed was done in the dark or in the daylight. The guineas usually roost either in a tree or in the rafters of the hog barn, out of coyote reach during the night.

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Wes has been bringing pheasant meat in his lunch during the past week. He was given the birds by someone who had more interest in hunting them than eating them. Everyone at school knows that our principal is the biggest healthful food champion in the place--not that he rants about it. He just very faithfully brings his food in small glass jars, and eats lots of vegetables and some whole grains and fruits and protein--usually eggs or cheese, and never too much of it, and never any junk food. I'm impressed.

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Tomorrow I will bake bread for us and a cake for the rescue mission meal, but mostly I will grade papers. That prospect pleases me.

On Sunday we go to the Mennonite Manor for the morning service and to the rescue mission in Wichita for an evening service. Unfortunately, the evening plans mean that I'll miss Carolyn's baptism at Arlington. She handed out exquisite invitations today, typical of her sweet artistic self, and I know being there would be a blessing.

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Clarissa's brother got married today. Congratulations to Garret and Marsela. Some time I'll have to ask someone to tell me Marsela's family's story. She was born in Serbia (Yugoslavia), and, like Garret, was a Mennonite for part of her life.

Thanksgiving 2011

2011-11-25T05:36:00.000-08:00

Our DLM family gathered yesterday at Myron's house.

I like one Thanksgiving Day food tradition our family has developed over the past number of years: cheesy turkey chowder for the evening meal. We start with a recipe that includes turkey broth, to which are added onions, carrots, and celery, and bits of leftover turkey. Milk and cheese are added near the end of the preparation process, and perhaps a bit of thickening. Other cooked vegetable and gravy leftovers can also be added.

For the evening meal, the last few years we have all contributed whatever pickles or relish tray vegetables we had on hand. This year we outdid ourselves with the variety: sweet dill and regular dill pickles, bread and butter pickles, a mixed vegetable pickle, pickled beets, and, as an afterthought, the Korean and Japanese pickle jars from our breakfast table--kim chee and takana (mustard leaf pickles). The fresh veggies were sliced kohlrabi, baby carrots, sliced fresh cucumbers, and daikon sticks--from one of the biggest daikons our garden produced this year. It was probably about a foot long and three inches thick--one of the crispest, mildest radishes you can imagine.

The supper table also sported leftover tossed salad, cranberry salad, dinner rolls, and pumpkin pie.

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In the afternoon we looked at pictures Lowell took on his last trip to India. He had returned from there only two days earlier. This time he had traveled in some of the major tea producing areas of the country. Each leaf is harvested individually by hand at just the right stage of maturity.

I've learned elsewhere that the same plant is used to produce green tea and black tea (which the Japanese call red tea). The difference is in what happens next. Both green tea and black tea go through a fermenting process before they're dried. Black tea is simply fermented longer than green tea. The garden mint tea, or meadow tea, many of us are used to is unfermented tea, from a different plant, of course. The other teas are produced on a shrub-like plant in the Camelia family, which is hardy only to zero degrees or so, Fahrenheit.

Lowell told us bits and pieces of the stories of people they met and/or visited. One was a former bootlegger who lived in a remote mountain area. He's a Christian now.

Driving along in another remote area, they came upon another driver who excitedly announced the presence of an elephant on the road just ahead. I had no idea how fearsome such an encounter can be, but the driver of the vehicle Lowell was in made haste to back up to give the elephant a wide berth. Elephants are quite capable of upsetting a vehicle and then stomping and destroying it and its occupants.

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After dark, when the boys had gathered in from their outdoor adventures, some of us watched Food, Inc., the documentary on our food supply. If the audience comments were to be believed, the indignation factor was alive and well.

On a related subject, I heard recently about Tomato Land, a book on the commercial tomatoes grown in Florida. I haven't read the book, and may not have the title exactly right. If any of my readers wish to correct or add to this information, I'd be glad to have you do so.

The person I heard talking about the book mentioned the abundant use of pesticides in Florida especially, presumably because of the humidity that makes fungus diseases more of a challenge than is the case in drier climates. Some of these pesticide labels require a 48 hour waiting period before anyone enters a sprayed area. The market demands, however, make it unattractive to abide by that guideline, and the reality is that sprayers often operate while workers are in the field. They offer the immigrant laborers the courtesy of lifting the sprayer booms when they pass over the workers' heads. Retching and illness follows on the heels of the sprayer's pass.

Winter tomatoes from John Millers' greenhouses look better all the time, and tomatoes from our own garden in summer, even more so.

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Fishing is the newest passion in the 12-and-under Miller boy crowd. That's probably why I saw a barefoot boy yesterday headed out the driveway at a good clip, fishing rod held aloft--on his way to join those who had already left, apparently. The weather was warm and sunny, with a stiff south wind, but not all of us would have considered it barefoot weather.

Some of these boys live more than three hours apart, but they regularly keep each other updated by long phone conversations on what they're learning and doing.

Joey has taken to referring to these cousin phone calls as being either from C & E or B & A--the initials of the fisherman brother pairs at the other cousin residences.

From one of his books, Joey has learned that catfish that can taste muddy otherwise can be made to taste very good by immersing the meat for only two minutes in boiling water. Then the meat is transferred to cold water and refrigerated for a period of time. For some reason, a grayish "sludge" layer develops in the bottom of the cooling container. At frying time, the water is discarded, and the fish is presumably fried or grilled or baked. Judy says the catfish they prepared this way was wonderful. Another trick Joey knows is to remove the narrow line of dark meat running through a fish fillet. That portion is very strongly flavored.

Myron told about a big catfish his boys knew resided in the spillway of Blodgett's pond. The boys had hooked it several times, but it was so big it kept snapping the fish line. So one day last summer they went back, armed with heavy duty line, and caught that fish in short order. The Arlington boys' Sunday School class fishing in another part of the pond gaped in astonishment, a switch from the smirks on display when Myron first asked if it was OK if they fished in the spillway.

They caught and fried the fish when their boy cousins from PA (or another eastern state?) were here. That big fish didn't taste as good as hoped--too muddy. As Myron recounted a small mishap while it was being grilled, we had to agree that the problem may not have been entirely in the fish's bottom-feeding habits. One of the boys approached the grill while he was holding a toad or frog. When he was very close, the amphibian escaped with a flying leap, and landed ever-so-briefly right on the grill where the fish was frying. It must have been uncomfortable, because he didn't stay long. What else might have transpired in amphibian stress responses is perhaps best left to the imagination.

Homeschooled children aren't the only ones who have the luxury of pursuing their passions widely and deeply, but it's a fact that being able to dispense with a day's worth of classroom work in a half day leaves a lot more time for such pursuits than many children enjoy. This is part of why I believe that homeschooling is often a wonderful option if giving your children a charmed childhood is important to you. An interesting natural environment, with freedom to explore it at will, is a bonus, of course.

I know very well that fishing is not the first passion my nephews have pursued, and it will hardly be the last, but every pursuit has helped make them the community experts, at least among their peers, on the subject of the moment. This is a very natural and healthy way to build self-esteem in your children--giving them opportunities to acquire skills and knowledge along the lines of their interests. When they're having fun doing it, it's stress-free for everyone. I wish I could say the same is possible for much of the learning that takes place inside classroom walls.

Belated Sunday Wrapup 11/22/2011

2011-11-22T04:03:00.000-08:00

What do you get when you pack 17 high school girls, one slender young teacher and one not-so-slender teacher-Grandma into a room for a long evening? Lots of intensity. That's what. And blankets.

In last night's case, we also got bucket loads of shared affirmations (That was the focus of the evening.), and some heartfelt expressions of need and vulnerability. The hugs and tissue boxes went scooting around the room wherever they were needed at the moment, and used tissues went arcing into the trash can in the middle of the room as people cleaned up the space around them.

My female co-teacher, Norma, hatched the plan, and some of the girls signed up to bring food for a simple soup meal together. Others set up the meeting room, and made it homey and inviting. The church library might never have been so thoroughly and well-utilized before. If you peeked in there this morning before the student cleanup crew descends, you might be frowning, but I'm sure God smiled last night. The crib mattresses will be returned to their homes in short order, and the girls will surely be smiling in their hearts for a long time--that is, if they can stay awake today to enjoy the memories.

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During most of the evening we weren't very aware of anything besides what was happening in the room we were in, and in heaven, but near the end of the evening, a coyote "sang" for us--several times, with its characteristic combination of howls and yips. The school is in a fairly densely settled rural area--for Kansas, at least--and a state and U.S. highway and railroad run through nearby, but wild things remain. I like that.

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Sunday's Hutchinson News carried a long feature article and four pictures of Shane and Caleb's natural pork production venture. It was in a special Farm and City supplement, and I was unable to find it online on the news website. Otherwise I would post a link. It was a very nice article, but my composition students would have had a heyday with the "media bloopers" present, which I give them extra credit for discovering. The title contained the word Chipotle, except it was spelled Chipolte. Any hogs that are not sold to local consumers go to a processing plant that supplies Whole Foods and Chipotle.

Free advertising like this is invaluable. The reporter's editor had purchased pork from Shane at Farmer's Market, and picked up a business card. Later she handed the card to the reporter and suggested he do a story on the project. Shane saw to it that Caleb was present also when she and a photographer showed up to do the interview and photo shoot.

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Lots of family travels are happening today. Lowell and our bishop, David Y., return today from a trip to India, where they conducted a seminar for pastors, and traveled to visit at least one other ministry where David's brother Abe, from Minnesota, is involved, along with others in his church. Abe accompanied them on this trip.

Marvin and Lois and their family are headed for Tennessee today--to a Mast family Thanksgiving gathering.

Shane and Dorcas plan to begin the trek to Virginia, to spend the holiday with Dorcas's family. Dorcas and Tristan will stay there through the following week while Shane meets up with others in the Laudate singing group, for practicing, presenting, and recording a Christmas program. I saw their itinerary, and took special note of their programs at Bruton Parish, a church in the historic part of Williamsburg, VA.

Several years ago, when Lois turned 40, Marvin schemed for and financed a surprise weekend birthday celebration at Williamsburg for Mom and all the girls in our family. Mom and Linda and I flew into the Norfolk airport, Clara flew in from Columbus, Carol drove over from Ellicot City, MD (DC area), and Bill brought Dorcas from South Carolina. Marvin and Bill were the only men in the group, and they served as chauffeur and escort (and, of course, the afore-mentioned financier). Lois' birthday is on Dec. 1, so we got in on some of the Christmas festivities at Williamsburg. The Laudate group will be there over the same time period we were. We had a wonderful time in Williamsburg, and I'm delighted Shane gets to go there.

I have one fond memory of the time we spent in the Bruton Parish church. We had been tromping around from place to place in a chilly outdoors, and going in and out of unheated buildings, so we entered the church partly to rest and recuperate. A sermon was in progress, and we listened politely.

The church benches were like long, skinny, and tall three-sided boxes on legs. The seat and back were fairly typical, except for being unusually hard and straight, but the armrest end had no armrest. Instead, that end piece extended all the way up, as high as the extra-high back, boxing in the bench. Marvin had entered at a slightly different time than we did, so he ended up sitting across the aisle from Lois. Part way through the sermon, when he wanted to inform her about his plans to go on to check out possible eating places, he mouthed her a message across the aisle. His mouth, though, was hidden behind that high bench end, so all Lois could see was his eyes, busily trying to communicate, with all the words spoken soundlessly and invisibly into the end of the bench. I'm still searching for a metaphor in this event.

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The Williamsburg weekend was also my first clue that I'm not very good at attending Mom when she's in a wheelchair. She was then and is now quite capable of walking, but tires easily, and can't enjoy being on her feet for long periods of time. We had gotten a wheelchair for her, and used it a good portion of the day.

While we were in the parking lot of The Pottery, or perhaps the parking lot of another store we shopped at, I let go of the wheelchair for a moment. I must have been digging in my purse or something. When I looked up, a stranger was pushing Mom's wheelchair toward me across the parking lot. It had been parked on an incline, and spontaneously took itself and Mom for a spin. Mom was overheard to say, "Where are we going?" I wasn't there to answer. God bless the stranger for taking that errant wheelchair into custody for the protection of its occupant.

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Last Sunday was the dedication for Tristan. He slept through the prayer, to the relief of his mother, who had visions of several things that could go wrong--one of which would no doubt have been very entertaining to all the boys on the front bench nearby. LaVerne prayed a beautiful prayer.

Afterward I heard Leanna say that when Ken M. was in charge of doing the recording, he always took the time to listen to the recorded dedicatory prayer and type it up and give it to the parents of the child who was dedicated. Leanna loves to read that prayer for Lawrence, who was their baby during that time. What a lovely gesture.

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Grant and Clarissa are headed to Washington early on Thursday, staying till after her brother Garret's wedding on Dec. 2.

They served us all a delicious smoked turkey dinner on Sunday. We departed from tradition on several menu items--all of them delicious alternatives to the more typical fare. Hilda laughed about experimenting with the in-laws with her roasted butternut squash, onion, kale veggie dish, deeming it a safer option than experimenting with her own family. It was ever-so-good. She also made garlic mashed potatoes, with the peelings--another hit. Dorcas (or Shane?) made a great tossed salad, and Clarissa baked hot rolls and made gravy--and pumpkin roll for dessert. We had the dessert later in the afternoon, with hot drinks made to order. I fixed cranberry salad, special ordered by Grant--the kind Grandma makes.

Shane tried to remember what all went into Grandma's holiday tossed salads. He thinks those have always been the best salads he's tasted, and he finds it hard to duplicate them.

Sunday Wrapup 11/13/2011

2011-11-13T17:27:00.000-08:00

Until 11:00 yesterday morning I was prepared to be in a throng of young people at this time--probably between 30 and 40 of them, right here in our home. We were scheduled to take our turn at hosting the Sunday evening "singing." I always enjoy being with the young people, but the preparations are daunting when they must be done around the edges of away-from-home working hours, and solemn duties like grandbaby cuddling and attending winter Bible school at church. They are especially daunting for a housekeeper like me. Flylady would not be proud of my panic.

Deliverance came and grace was extended in the form of a snafu of some kind among the young people who do the scheduling for these and many other events. While Marian and Hiromi and I were busily racing around, getting ready here, our neighbors Willard and Sharon were also preparing--probably at a saner pace--to host the young people this evening. The singing was to double as a farewell for their son Aaron, who is about to leave for six months in SE Asia. Hannah and Judy saw the conflict emerging when I fortuitously called Judy to discuss some food amounts. Hannah caught wind of what I wanted and told her mom that they were told that the gathering would be at Willard and Sharon's house. They called the person in charge, who called here to make amends and finalize the plans.

I don't know all the details of how the double booking happened, but there was a recent hand-off of planning committee responsibilities, and the person now in charge has also had some other major planning and speaking duties recently. I suppose, as sometimes happens to me, reaching a decision about what makes sense morphed into a mistaken notion that everything was taken care of. We're on now for the singing in two weeks, right after Thanksgiving--really a much better time for me than now. The food preparation was not far enough along to be a problem. The plans and the food will keep just fine.

We'll hope for another Sunday in two weeks with the wind direction just right for avoiding a PS aroma. Yesterday was bad; today was good.

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Tristan and his mama came to church today. An admiring crowd of people was on hand to hold the new baby afterward. I didn't get a turn.

A consensus prevails that "he looks just like Shane." Dorcas, however, claims credit for his medium-light hair, his high hairline, and his cowlick.

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I wonder what the students would have thought if I had appeared in school last Friday with a garlic clove taped into my ear. I didn't seriously consider it, but the evening before, I was ready for some serious action to combat the painful earache I was feeling, so I did the garlic clove thing overnight. I also took Ibuprofen and some antibiotics purchased in a foreign country. I've done this once before, a bit guiltily, but I reason that I am abiding by both the letter and spirit of the law--at least when I put the best possible spin on the spirit of the law. No one in the US is selling the drug to me without a physician's prescription, and I am not abusing the drug by overuse. I really like not having to pay big bucks for a doctor to look into my ear and diagnose an earache, which I am perfectly capable of diagnosing without looking into my own ear. (It's probably a good thing that looking into one's own ear is not required.)

All day on Friday, my ear hurt whenever I had to open my mouth to eat or talk. I think the infection was possibly in the outer ear--or at least closer to the surface than it sometimes is. I could make it hurt by pressing any number of places around and on and in my ear. I still can, but now it itches madly too, so I think it's healing.

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Susanna, who demonstrated "working cattle" last week at school, served fresh-baked warm cookies and milk for everyone after school this week. She was on "E' privilege and baking cookies is allowed for such privileged students.

How's her skill set for well-roundedness?

This week was really stellar at school in the snack department, even without indulging at the snack bar out at the canner operation. On the same day Marsha brought mini-cheesecakes as a belated birthday treat, Andrew brought dozens of cookies and made popcorn for his birthday treat.

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At school Marvin is spearheading a drama event involving whoever volunteers to commit to the practice and work involved. Most of the students signed up.

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Joel and Hilda did hiking around Grand Canyon this week. It was their first pre-planned hiking-as-recreation activity, and they thoroughly enjoyed it.

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Mark Nissley had a topic during Bible school about brain development in teenagers, and how that affects their ability to ascertain risks and weigh consequences.

In short, he said that the frontal lobe is the region of the brain where all these things are processed. The brain, however, matures from back to front, beginning with the hippocampus, and progressing by forming additional connecting tissue between brain cells. The maturing process reaches and fully encompasses the frontal lobe around age 25.

Norma overheard someone at school the next day say that what Mark said wasn't very complimentary of teenagers. The student probably wasn't complaining about what Mark said so much as expressing chagrin at the realization of how much brain maturity is still lacking in teenagers.

Obeying parents as the Bible instructs children to do comes through as being wise for reasons many of us don't fully understand, and people under 25 are probably incapable of understanding it.

I know that some churches don't accept any ministerial candidate who is not at least 25. I doubt that the decision is based on brain research, but I can see why it makes sense.

Marriage? I'm not pushing for making 25 a minimum age for marriage, but I feel a little smug for having been older than that when I got married.

What else should be off-limits for people under 25? Driving? Just kidding, but I do wish I knew how to get across to young people the foolishness of thrill-seeking behind the wheel. I don't want to see a single young person I know injured or killed because of irresponsible driving. This really is an area where adults can well afford to nag, indoctrinate, enforce, restrict--however much is needed to keep young people safe. Regrettably, perhaps it does more for their own peace of mind than for bringing about changed behavior.

To be as convincing as we want to be, we also need confrontation with reality. Mark did this by recounting a first-hand experience. Their family hosted a small group of teenagers who came over together for an evening of volleyball several years ago when they still lived in another state. Mark caught on that someone had been driving very fast when the young people came, and he warned the owner of the car not to let a certain young man drive on the way home. I understood it to be the person who had done the fast driving. Mark didn't give a lot of details, but I believe the owner of the car ended up driving as they left, and, soon after, a terrible high speed one-car accident occurred in which three young people died.

No driving thrill is worth the risk of such consequences.

Our School

2011-11-07T15:21:00.000-08:00

In your school, what might prompt spontaneous applause? In ours today, the event was Mr. Schrock's simple comment just before the lunchtime prayer: "We have something to be thankful for." He didn't even name it, but everyone knew that it was raining outside, and that was reason enough to applaud.

The student-led prayer followed, and it included a "Thank you for the rain" sentence.

All day it rained. Mr. Schrock and I stood at the front doors and watched it rain during break. "When was the last time it rained like this?" he asked.

"Several weeks ago we had about six-tenths of an inch during the night, but we couldn't watch it," I answered.

"More recently than that we had that fine misty rain that didn't amount to much," he added. "I remember we had a big rain in June," he went on "because we were gone and I had left my car windows open at home. We had a lot of moisture inside the car."

Among the students a festive spirit prevailed today. Many of them ate lunch on the front porch of the church to celebrate and to watch it rain. The more staid among us decided we could celebrate just as well inside where it was warm and bright and dry.

In the shop, which doubles as a basketball court outside of shop classes, preparations are underway for the MCC Relief Canning Project to commence on Thursday of this week. New lights are being installed, and the students are so glad for the prospect of improved lighting that they didn't complain about missing out on basketball at break. Instead they played Dodge Ball with gusto in the learning center (rolling the ball on the floor), and Six Square in the basement.

Andrew, who has a lot more appreciation for a dark, cave-like studying setting than I do, wanted to crank open the blinds in the typing room. It was too dark and gray, even for him. Best of all, he found a way to make the controller work to move the blinds trapped between two glass panes. I had concluded it was broken and had given up trying to open the blinds to admit more light.

I lit a candle instead of cursing the darkness. (I know. Lame attempt at profundity. Not original at all.)

The darkness almost created an awkward situation for Susanna. I headed through the double doors into the church foyer, and saw a shadowy figure hurrying toward me out of the dark. Much giggling followed when she realized it was me, a teacher, and not a student as she had hoped. She was planning to pull off a big "scare" event. She was one of the frisky "E" privilege students in the library who were staging their very own music event, although quietly, so as not to get their privileges revoked.

It's lovely on a rainy day to be penned up with people you like.

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In our school we started a Friday afternoon activity series last year which involved students selecting an activity to share with the rest of the school. It was to be something that shows everyone something about that "other life" each of them has--the one outside of school. If possible, it would be instructive, and involve teaching others a skill that one student has developed through experience or practice. Students, especially in the same family, could pair up to make their presentations.

Last Friday's activity was a "working cattle" activity that Susanna and Lois demonstrated. Their dad brought over a 300-lb. calf that was being added to their "backgrounding" operation, and the girls were to perform its initiation rites as they are used to doing. A cattle trailer and panel had to substitute for the chute they usually use. They left the back gate open after the calf was fully secured between the sidewall of the trailer and a panel snugged up against it, and the work began in full view of the audience. I confess I hung around the back where my view was partly obstructed. I'm a little more squeamish than I used to be.

Indoors, the girls had showed us all their gear--bottles of vaccines, syringes, an implant tool, ear tags, a dehorning tool, and an elastrator, and explained how each tool was used and what each medication and procedure was supposed to accomplish. That forenoon, Susanna was getting cold feet about part of this explanation, so I helped her word things both clearly and discretely where that seemed especially necessary. When the time came, the girls carried off the explanations and tasks with aplomb.

The antibiotics and the hormone chip went in. The elastration band and the ear tag went on. The horn tips came off. And that was that.

Then we all hurried off to clean up the flower beds around the building and spread the mulch that Larry had brought for that purpose.

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In each of the last two composition classes, I have misspelled something on the chalkboard. Each time, someone called it to my attention, thankfully. I think something about writing things large and on a vertical surface is a little disorienting. That is, the usual "making sure it looks right" mechanisms don't kick in as reliably as they do under more normal writing conditions. Or maybe that's just an excuse. The other day it was simile, and today it was enforcement--and one other word that I can't remember, in which I omitted one whole syllable.

Unfortunately, I think misspellings are a bigger problem for me than they used to be. Occasions one through ninety-nine can go off without a hitch, but occasion 100 prompts a brain freeze, or a blithe unawareness of any problem. It probably doesn't help either that I'm often talking while I'm writing on the board, or I'm thinking about what I need to say next.

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We got our call chain diagram for the school year today--to be used in the event of a weather cancellation. Someone was talking about the possibility of freezing rain by tomorrow. Not a chance, according to the weather site I've been consulting.

When I was on my way home from school tonight, whoever I met driving a pickup near Pleasantview Acadamy didn't need ice on which to do some dramatic sliding maneuvers. I was glad he got things under control before he reached me. He came very close to landing in first the west and then the east ditch, with a crosswise-in-the-road interval in between. I still don't know if he was showing off or demonstrating helplessness. The latter would inspire empathy; the former, disgust. In the absence of certainty, I'll have to hold both emotions suspended.

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The rain had not yet started on my ride to school. As I rounded the Stutzman corner, a loud wail erupted from somewhere in Pleasantview. Unnerving. It sounded like a tornado siren, but it didn't look that stormy. I had never heard this before.

During typing class I found out from my students that what I heard was indeed a tornado siren that is tested on the first Monday of every month. I guess my trip to school had never coincided before with the siren testing time.

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Mr. Schrock kindly warned everyone today not to assume that the snacks that people bring for the canner crowd are meant for student consumption. He made it clear that they are there for people who help with the work. That could be students, he said, but only if they have their school work far enough along to justify spending part of the school day in a "helping mankind" activity. Past experience has shown the wisdom of some preemptive instruction about the snacks.

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The red tulips and grape hyacinths planting idea for the school entrance beds was vetoed. Cost was apparently not the issue.

Where does a person start in explaining the deep satisfaction some of us feel at the sight of a vivid color splash after a gray winter--especially if it can be enjoyed year after year with a very nominal investment of time and money? School is the home away from home for students during most of their waking hours during most of the days of each year. Why not make it a place where they can't help but smile, for several weeks of the year, at least, as they approach and as they leave?

How do you say politely that what looks simple and attractive to one person looks simply boring to another? That's how I view foundation plantings with no variety in color and texture. Nothing dynamic is apparent in such a landscape. Especially if these plantings require regular shearing to maintain the "proper" shape, I think they look intolerably stiff and bland--forced into uncomfortable submission by someone's idea of order--as if it can look good only if it holds perfectly still, maintaining forever the shape artificially forced upon it. Such plants have a place--as a background for more interesting things, or as a foreground for interesting and intricate architecture behind them, but, all by themselves, in front of undistinguished structures, ad infinitum? Spare me.

Maybe I need to ask Susanna to help me figure out how to say this clearly and discretely.

C-Sections in El Salvador

2011-11-03T17:20:00.001-07:00

I recently heard from a friend who has lived in El Salvador for a number of years that C-sections for first time mothers occur at a very high rate in government hospitals. These women with a C-section history are told that in subsequent pregnancies a natural birth would be too risky, and that more than three C-sections in also inadvisable. Presto. Family size limited to three children--among the poor who can not afford private hospitals.

It gets worse. Reportedly, the United Nations pays for C-sections. This could mean that government hospitals have a financial incentive to perform C-sections because they have guaranteed income from doing so.

My friend recounted stories of personal acquaintances of hers who were positive that their C-sections were not necessary. In one case, the mother was told that "the doctor needed to get home before midnight" and this was taking too long. She protested, but a laboring woman is not physically able to resist a knife or ether-wielding medical practitioner, and the C-section took place over her protests.

In another case, an expectant mother, under the care of a person who had worked in a birthing center, labored in a vehicle in the parking lot of a hospital till the baby was so close to being born that there would be no time for a C-section. Then she went into the hospital and had her baby within minutes. Congratulations were not forthcoming. The mother was greeted with very noticeable anger. She was subjected to a D & C which was almost certainly not needed--to check that everything was alright.

Hearing these stories aroused my ire. After I had a bit of time to cool down I tried to learn what I could, to see if it's possible to corroborate this information from other sources. I did not find positive proof that UN money is deliberately used in El Salvador to perform unnecessary C-sections for the purpose of population control. Cynically, I presume that it would never be posted for all to see if such were the case, so it's hardly surprising that the proof is hard to find.

Here's what I did find:

1) A publication from the El Salvador government Ministry of Public Health and social welfare says: "The incidence of cesarean section deliveries under the Ministry increased from 20.0% of all deliveries in 1992 to 22.9% in 1996." Note that these statistics are at least 15 years old, the rate did not increase dramatically in that time period. Note also that in other sources any percentage over 15% is considered excessive.

Note: Blogger has swallowed whole the last half of this post. I'll see if I can recover or reconstruct the remainder at a later time. If I have to rewrite everything, I'll have to recover a bunch of source documents that were referenced here. Bummer.

Quote for the Day 11/2/2011

2011-11-02T19:40:00.000-07:00

Euni (praying in our small group discussion as part of Winter Bible School) : Thank you for everything wet you're sending our way.

I really can't remember exactly what she said, but this was the idea--right after someone had announced to the rest of us that it was snowing outside--big beautiful flakes. A fine mist fell much of the day, but the moisture accumulation is unlikely to amount to more than a quarter inch.

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Hot drinks and doughnuts were served in the intermission between the 1st and 2nd sessions, courtesy of Josh and Misty and Joseph and Leanna--as I heard it, at least.

An Awkward Age

2011-11-01T04:21:00.000-07:00

Cookie Wiebe died yesterday morning at age 57. A service will be held in Newton, and burial will be in Beatrice, Nebraska. Joel and Hilda's vacation plans have changed so that they can share with others in grieving--and celebrating.

I learned something about the last weeks of her life at her blog charitableliving.net. Cookie's husband David authored the most recent posts. He's honest about the inconveniences of caring for someone near the end of life, but the hope of eternity in heaven shines strong as well.

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We worked our way last night through about half of the parent teacher conferences for this round. I'm always pleased to see how many different ways parents show their concern for their children and how many forms responsible parenting can take. Gaining perspective on our important, but limited, claim on these students' time and life is invaluable. I don't have any trouble sympathizing with parents who regret the family activities their busy students miss out on because of school demands. I hated too what school did to our family life when we switched from homeschooling to classroom schooling.

Balancing the regret, however, is a nagging question about whether some students game the system by gallivanting about on "E" privilege at school (or wasting time otherwise) and then hitting the books hard at home after school, using their schoolwork as a convenient alibi for avoiding work at home. I can't remember how well I was able to enforce it, but I remember asking Shane to stay in the learning center until his goals for the day were met when I suspected he was "partying" at school and planning to do his school work at home. Another possible tool for parents to use would be to ask that their student leave the learning center to "study" elsewhere only after lunch--or at another appropriate time marker.

If you're a parent reading this, don't misconstrue this to mean that I believe no studying happens when students are outside the learning center. It's likely, however, that studying is often inefficient, and--make no mistake--socializing and playing possibilities are a huge draw for earning "E" privilege status. On the other hand, when the weather is lovely, I'm always glad if "E" privilege students can take advantage of being able to study at the picnic tables outside.

Parents might learn exactly what is required for maintaining "C" privilege, and then work with their students to make that the goal rather than "E." Maintaining that privilege level is still substantially surpassing the minimum --in making progress toward graduation--but limits the "goofing off" options at school. On "C" privilege, students are required to stay in the learning center or in class at school, except for break times.

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I think sometimes that being in your late 50s is an awkward age. Our parents are old enough and near enough at the end of their journey that we sense the urgency of learning from their accumulated wisdom while there is still opportunity. Are we, as it sometimes seems to them, heedless of guarding values that we ought to be holding dear?

Some of our children are old enough to have passed the magical 25-year marker when the adult brain is fully developed, and all of them have their own home. We recognize that they are sharper in many ways than we can ever hope to be. Are we also, as it sometimes seems to them, blind to our need to let go of things that no longer serve us well?

We feel, at the same time, that we are not cautious enough and not daring enough. Among our peers and leaders, some tend more toward caution than daring, and others, more toward daring than caution. Who do we align ourselves most closely with?

Even in matters that have been a lifelong passion, we don't have it all figured out. When is it right to push mightily for innovation and progress--if it becomes clear that the familiar ways are not serving us well, and when is it better to use the systems already in place, tweaking, mending, and shoring up as needed? Launching off in a new direction consumes a lot of time and energy. Is the end result worth the time and effort?

As women, when does submission to those over us (who may not be taking action) trump the responsibility we all have to live purposefully and compassionately, prompting in us a desire to intercede or intervene on behalf of those who are marginalized, ill-served, hurting, or needy in some other way? When does it constitute taking up an offense for another--something we're told is wrong?

We want to participate fully in the business of living, but we long for a life that is as stress-free as possible. The knowledge that stasis is not the ideal tempers our desire for fewer challenges, unless, like Cookie, we are expecting to die very soon, and we welcome the prospect.

This or that? More or less? Initiate or wait? Advance or retreat?

Being able to depend on the Lord to reveal each step as it needs to be taken is a comfort, and saves me from the paralysis that results from trying to figure it all out before I start. For now, the next steps are very mundane: Get dressed. Eat breakfast. Pack lunch. Go to school. But the less mundane are clear also: Worship throughout the day. Live mindfully. Invest in relationships. Help those who struggle. Honor others. Live humbly. Intercede in prayer.

I'd better get started.

The Akachan and Other News

2011-10-30T19:08:00.000-07:00

The akachan (ah-kah-chon--"baby" in Japanese) is getting cuter by the day. We had some good times this evening holding him to our heart's content, laughing at his accidental smiles and fierce frowns and perplexed expressions--all in his sleep. When his eyes were open, he ranged them all around the room, but didn't have the coordination to focus on anyone's face.

We've spotted evidence of Kuepfer genes. He has a massive cowlick. Just maybe it's the beginning of curly hair. That would be very un-Iwashige-like.

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Today in Sunday School Rachel Y. told us about a special event recently in Montana, the home of members of her husband's family, including his parents.

At Easter, earlier this year, someone gave Rachel's parents-in-law a lily. After the flowers faded, Ella, the wife, planted the lily outside the house. A few weeks ago someone noticed a bud on the lily plant--completely out of season for an early summer blooming bulb.

"It'll freeze," Ella said, resigned to the inevitable. She was struggling with leukemia, and her husband had serious heart problems, and a lily freezing was no doubt low on her list of concerns, despite her love of flowers.

In a sudden downward spiral, Ella's condition worsened, and she died rather unexpectedly about two weeks ago. On the day her body was brought back to her home for the last time, the lily had burst into bloom. It was still fresh on the day of her funeral, and someone plucked the blossom and placed it into her hands. She was buried that way, in the presence of her children and all 61 grandchildren.

How good of God to provide this resurrection symbol when the reality of separation by death saddened Ella's family.

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This was the weekend of youth retreat. Church seemed really empty because of it, and perhaps because four of our ministers preached elsewhere today. As further evidence of the dearth of people attending the regular service, I filled in as SS teacher for Grace Kuepfer, who traveled unexpectedly to Canada for Lorne's 14-year-old nephew's funeral. Before Sunday I got asked to teach another class (I said no.) and also got asked if Hiromi and I could go to the Manor service because Jolene and Sanford were scheduled to go and they were both teaching classes. I said no again. Our Sunday school class was about half its usual size, and the Center contingent at the Manor consisted of only Joel and Hilda. Oops.

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This is the week for parent teacher conferences at school. I always enjoy this time, but this week looks maxed out from early to late each day through Wednesday. We have winter Bible school on Tuesday and Wednesday, with the remainder of the sessions next week on Wednesday through Friday.

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We had our second hard freeze this week. I'm still canning tomatoes that are ripening gradually indoors.

Hiromi and I harvested the daikon radishes we usually grow as a fall crop, and we tied them by their leaves onto the panels that form our garden fence. The process of drying them this way is the first step in making them into a traditional Japanese pickle by a natural fermenting process. Think of it as a crock dill pickle variation, only there are no cucumbers and no dill--only salted giant white "icicle" radishes, and the naturally developing lactic acid bacteria that gives it a sharp, lively flavor.

On his next day off Hiromi plans to harvest the leaf mustard and let it dry outdoors for a day or so before beginning the pickling process, also with salt.

Each vegetable is placed, with salt, in a five-gallon bucket, and pressed under a heavy weight till the desired flavor develops.

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Joel and Hilda plan to travel to see the Grand Canyon, probably leaving on Tuesday of this week.

They're mindful of their good friend Cookie Wiebe's worsening condition, and are aware that her likely-soon home-going could change their plans. She lives in Newton. Along with LeRoy H. and Elena they've shared good times together in the past as part of a discussion group. Cookie's husband David posted pictures of Joel and Hilda's wedding before any official photos were ready.

David and Cookie left for voluntary service in India shortly after the wedding, but not before they had biked across the U.S. together to raise money for MCC--quite a feat for a couple old enough to be grandparents.

Cookie also worked at Newton's MCC headquarters for a number of years, a familiar presence for the ladies from here who went there to volunteer occasionally.

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Our group is rejoicing in the dismissal of all of Timo Miller's charges. I have yet to see any media reports of this development. Perhaps it's not considered as newsworthy as the initial filing of charges was considered to be.

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The final farmer's market of the season is past. Craig went in Shane's place, while Shane brought his wife and baby home from the hospital. Fellow vendors were eager to hear whether Shane and Dorcas' baby had arrived, and Craig was able to give them the news they wanted to hear.

Shane offered a "Tristan Special" to honor the occasion in his meat sales.

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Dan Schrag turns 90 this week, on Wednesday. Cards, calls, and visits in honor of the occasion would be a blessing to Betty, as well as Dan.

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Family and friends of Loyal M. are heading to PA this week for the wedding of Loyal and Arlene. He is LaVerne and Rebecca's son.

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At school, we've been watching the development of a number of Black Swallowtail butterflies that developed from larva that Mr. Schrock brought to school, along with parsley from the plant they were feeding on when he found them.

The butterflies have proven to be very entertaining, especially at the testing table, close to where they hatched. Last week Marvin had one perched on his pencil when it abruptly switched locations and perched on his nose. He could hardly get done scratching the itch after it flew away.

All of them have been released outdoors.

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Last week, a special hot lunch and a bicycle ride on the trails in Carey and Rice Park rewarded those who ended the quarter on privilege. Earlier in the quarter everyone had gone to the Medicine Lodge Peace Treaty Pageant, so we chose to do something cheaper and closer to home for the end-of-quarter activity.

The bike ride had one major snafu, resulting in a ride more than ten miles long instead of the planned seven mile ride for everyone. People weren't complaining though, perhaps because they realized the snafu was the students' fault--not the teachers'. Riding confidently off in the wrong direction without asking for guidance was their first mistake.

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Does anyone know where the "Teaching Company" high school geometry course is? Grant used it, and John used it, and I don't know where it went after that. A student at Pilgrim is interested in taking the course if we can find it.

Quote for the Day 10/28/2011

2011-10-28T05:24:00.000-07:00

Shane (about his newborn son) : When he cries, half his face is mouth.

Birth Announcement

2011-10-26T20:13:00.000-07:00

Tristan Scott Iwashige was born this evening at 5:39 to Shane and Dorcas. He weighed 7 lbs. and 7 oz.

Dorcas says he looks like Shane, and Shane says he looks like Hiromi. We all say he looks a little battered and will no doubt look more handsome as time goes on. I think both parents feel battered too, but as far as I know, they don't have their sights set on looking more handsome as time goes on. A good rest is what they do have their sights set on.

A little more than 25 years ago, Shane was born at the same hospital in Lyons, Kansas. The plans earlier were to have this baby at the birth center in Yoder, but Plan B seemed like a good idea as time (and more time) went on, so they self-transferred mid-stream. The good news is that a C-Section was not needed. I won't elaborate on the bad news. Suffice it to say that Shane said this afternoon that adoption seemed like a pretty good way to go for acquiring a family.

We left the hospital after spending some time with Shane and the baby, leaving Dorcas alone to rest and recover. The baby seems to have a few opinions already about what he wants in life--food, mostly, at this point.

Thank God we're on the done side of the birth event, with good days to look forward to.

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How's this for weird? We Iwashige ladies had joked about trying to guess the name Shane and Dorcas had picked out for their baby boy, but they weren't telling. (Fred was the name they always used.) Earlier today, for the first time, I had a name in mind that I thought was a good guess. Trenton. That's just the kind of name they'd choose, I thought. Unknown to me, Clarissa was thinking the same thing all day today. Trenton. That was it.

Come to find out, Trenton Scott was a name Shane and Dorcas really liked, but they didn't want to copy Ken and Rochelle, so they settled on Tristan instead of Trenton.

Does this family have telepathy or what? I don't think we ever talked about these names.

Sunday Wrapup 10/23/2011

2011-10-23T17:52:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Matthew and Andrea got married. We sat directly in front of the vocalists and got the full benefit of the catch-your-breath loveliness of the music. We also participated gladly in the worship time led by Lyle, interspersed as it was with Scripture, comments and congregational singing. We had more trouble following the sermon--mostly the fault of something in the acoustics or sound system, or both, in the building.

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In a rant to Hiromi, I reinforced and articulated my belief that do-it-yourself Mennonites who undertake church building construction would do well to engage the services of professional architects or sound and lighting specialists--or have someone in the church group committed to doing the necessary research to get this right.

Hiromi pointed out that yesterday when the volume got turned up, we began to hear the whine of feedback--caused by speakers being located too close to the microphone. Hiromi has experience with running our church's sound system, so he was sympathetic to the person running the sound system yesterday. I just wanted someone to fix things so I could hear the sermon.

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In the learning center at school, everyone who works there as part of a small group outside of school hours knows that it would be a benefit if only one end of the long room could be lit when a group is meeting around a table at either end--with the rest of the room empty. But it's not possible because the two switches that light the room turn on all the lights on either the long west or the east side of the room. The only choices are lighting the whole room brightly, lighting the whole room dimly, or leaving it dark. Lighting brightly only the small area in use is not an option. I think professional architects would have thought of this in the design and/or construction phase.

Shane, who frequently helps sing at weddings, knows exactly which buildings have good singing acoustics and which ones don't. Good acoustics aren't as important as singing from a worshipful heart, but construction materials and methods might just as well serve good "sound" purposes as frustrate them. I suspect the cost difference is minimal.

Don't get me started on the merits of planning for abundant natural lighting in schoolrooms . . .

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I'd like to plant a big splash of red tulips on one side of the school entrance and a river of blue grape hyacinths on the other side before we mulch the beds for the winter. The church trustees are deliberating about the wisdom of this. I have a feeling we'll have a school spring without them.

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We ended the first quarter at school on Thursday. Nearly everyone ended on privilege. I think everyone should have been able to do so. Grrrrrr. (Can you tell my patience had worn thin?) When I see some people working very hard to get their work done on time, and see others who have as much or more ability not make the effort it takes . . . well, that's when I wonder if exercising patience is the right approach.

Later: I realized today that I should not have lumped everyone who missed being on privilege into one group. It's failing to complete assignments that are already a month overdue that nearly push me over the edge--not failing to pass a test at the last minute.

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Last week the comp students wrote a short essay on some memorable personal experience. Some of them were stellar essays, and I wish they could be made available to a wider audience.

Come to think of it--some years ago, when Andrew was our principal, we talked about establishing a website where such things could be posted. I don't think it ever went anywhere, but maybe it's time to look at that idea again.

Does anyone have a good idea on how this should be done? Perhaps a blog devoted to this purpose? Should a teacher do the posting or should students be allowed to post on their own initiative?

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We had a hard frost last Wednesday night. The leaves on all the tomato plants are black and limp, but the stems are still healthy green, as are any tomatoes still left hanging there. We had gathered tubs of big green tomatoes, but left all the smaller ones there. I think we'll wait to see if any of them keep growing--or ripening at least--on the vine. Tomorrow the temperature is to be in the upper 80s--warm enough to perform some ripening action.

This October 19 freeze was quite close to the average first frost date, but it was hard this year to see it come because the past few weeks was the first time all summer that many of us were seeing an abundance of green beans and tomatoes. Most of the tomatoes did not have time to ripen between the temperature moderation in late August that allowed fruit set, and the end of the growing season, but green beans were bearing with gusto.

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J. Sam and Brenda are grandparents. Their son Mark and his wife Esther have a baby boy, Ian Samuel. Sam and Brenda were in our church this morning, after having come for Matt and Andrea's wedding, and Sam announced the baby's arrival in church--bowing slightly in a delightful mock acceptance of adulation when he announced the middle name--his namesake--and the baby's long-gone great great grandfather's namesake.

This baby was due a week and a half after Shane and Dorcas'. Dorcas isn't quite sure the timing is fair here.

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Hiromi went to market yesterday for the first time in quite a while. He reported that the "honey man" was back. We learned from the Hutch News why he had been missing for a while--because he was being treated for a malignancy on his one nostril. As part of the reconstructive surgery necessary, he had skin from his forehead removed and reattached alongside his nose so that it could be used to build "new" nose parts where the old ones had to be removed. He is comfortable in his own skin--to the point that he was happy to have pictures of the intermediate steps taken for the front page of the newspaper. Good for him. I wish him a full and speedy recovery.

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LaVon B. is in the hospital again, as was Sue Nisly the last I heard. I don't know details of their current condition, but both of them have had a cancer diagnosis. I'm praying for them.

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Sabrina Miller has passed the one-month mark when infection from her recent shunt repair surgery was most likely. She is making developmental progress, and is able to stand alone briefly. For a child with minimal feeling in her lower extremities (because of spina bifida) this is quite an accomplishment. She is about 15 months old.

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Last week Wes brought several stems of huge deep purplish red velvety cockscomb to school--cut the evening before the freeze. He had grown them himself--the only flowers he grows, he said, except for Calla Lilies, which he likes too.

I have a big bouquet of Amazon cockscomb on my dining room table, a tall spiky variety I grow for bouquets. All the "brain" kinds I planted this year died before they produced flowers.

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We're planning on starting our winter Bible school on Tuesday of next week. I realized today when this was announced that we might have a conflict with the planned parent-teacher conferences we always have after the end of the first quarter. I'm glad I'm not responsible for the scheduling.

Quotes for the Day 10/19/2011

2011-10-20T18:36:00.000-07:00

Marvin : (Staring at the computer screen in the typing room, ready to correct errors on his written report.) What must I do to be saved?

I don’t think he was too impressed with the grade I gave him, but he was trying to be a good sport. It was actually a fairly good report with some small errors and a bunch of points taken off because it was three days late.

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Tonight when I got home, Shane was mowing the front yard with the bagger attachment on the push mower. The skid steer was crossways in the driveway, with the bucket receiving the clippings at the edge of the lawn as the bag filled and Shane dumped them.

Me: Are you feeding that to your cows?

Shane: Yeah. You know it’s a low time in agriculture when you eye your dad’s lawn as a source of feed for your cattle.

Me: Go over it again and you’ll get a lot more.

Shane: This stuff is a foot tall! I’m just cutting two-thirds of it.

This is embarrassing, but not foot-tall embarrassing. It didn't look that tall to me. Have I mentioned that we really miss Grant’s faithful shouldering of yard work responsibilities around here? Most of the summer the grass didn’t grow much, but we’ve had cool weather and some rain, and the grass has leaped up in gladness.

Celebrations, Reunions, and Conventions

2011-10-15T19:00:00.000-07:00

Oh me, oh my. I just got home from a Partridge High School all-students reunion. This event followed a day of other kinds of immersion in the experience of being a Partridge area resident. The annual small town celebration kicked off rather unceremoniously for us this morning when we appeared in the church basement for our pancake and sausage breakfast and were told that the pancakes were all gone. We settled for what they offered us--four small sausage patties, coffee, and orange juice. No problem.

The parade soon followed, and then the unicycle hockey game. The goals were nets on a hockey goal-like frame and the puck was a foam block perhaps five inches square and several inches thick. The "sticks" were wrapped bicycle tires used for swatting the puck while pedaling and staying perched on the unicycle seat. No one got to hit the puck unless he was on his unicycle.

Then it was time for lunch, and I got what was the best potato salad ever (at such an event) as part of my burger meal deal. Plainview served lunch.

Hilda marshalled an army of girls from our church to help the younger children with fun little games that could earn them "gold" to be used for purchasing prizes.

As always, Jay Yoder provided much of the creativity and muscle power to pull off the big Pedal Party event that has come to characterize Partridge's celebration. He buys or receives donated bikes and refurbishes them to be given away in drawings. Other drawings offer people a chance to choose among a number of different biking accessories. Judges choose people for various awards, based on bikes they have engineered or decorated for judging. Jay and his wife Lisa always join the parade riding in some innovative take on standard bicycling. This year they rode down the street in wheeled versions of metal lawn chairs. One fine lady rode in a rickshaw pedaled by her husband. Someone else rode a bike with a wheel mounted off center, so his ride had a distinct up and down rhythm to it.

Throughout the day people wandered in and out of the room where Chris Terrill and others had set up a history display, especially in commemoration of Partridge's 125th birthday. As requested, I set up a section featuring the books authored and compiled by Pilgrim students from past composition classes. Chris is very encouraging of such efforts.

I got a sense for how indignant some of the good folks of the town must have been in the late 1800s when the county seat was decided for Reno County. A certain character whose last name was Hutchinson saw that the city named after him would lose a chance at this coveted designation--to Reno Center (the first name for what is now Partridge) if he did not act to influence the decision. Hutchinson was not eligible at first because it was not located nearly enough at the center of the county. So he finagled re-drawn county borders, shifting the borders farther north and east, and then pulled strings in the state legislature in Topeka, and voila! Hutchinson was declared the county seat. He also saw to it that the new railroad that was planned to go straight to Partridge, bypassing Hutchinson, would instead go straight to Hutchinson and bypass Partridge.

Partridge people couldn't change the county seat designation but they sure enough did something about the railroad route problem. They couldn't change the route so they moved the town a mile north. Creative. The church was jacked up and logs were placed underneath. Then horses were hitched to the building, and every time the building rolled forward far enough to expose logs at the back they were dragged around to the front and the horses pulled the building forward again.

Losing the county seat race was a major blow to Partridge, but the 1923 tornado that roared down Main Street, demolishing most of the businesses, proved to be nearly fatal. People had acquired cars by then and could go to Hutchinson to do business, and Partridge businesses that took the trouble to rebuild after the tornado did not have enough ongoing business to thrive. In 2010 the official population count for Partridge was 248 and Hutchinson was 42,080.

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Park Coffey and another lady whose name I've forgotten were present at tonight's high school reunion. They graduated 72 years ago.

Also present tonight were four members of a Partridge basketball team that won the state championship one year. Danny Maxwell was among them. The championship game took place in the brand new Sports Arena in Hutchinson--the site for many years since then for the National Junior College Basketball tournament.

Partridge High School closed forever three years after I graduated in 1969. My sister Carol was in the final class. Tonight the MC read aloud the names of all the members of that class. I think Wayne Henderson was the only one present. Where were you J. Sam, Omar, and Carol?

Kent Moyer was at the reunion, coming from Florida. He came to visit his mother, who has cancer in her liver and elsewhere. She lives between us and Partridge, and has lived alone for the past number of months, ever since the son died who had lived with her. He was mildly handicapped, and needed his mother to help look out for him. He did a great deal to help her though by taking care of things on the outside of their farm home. Kent says that after Marc died, his mother lost one of her reasons for living.

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Dale Conkling was at the reunion. His mother was buried earlier today.

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Linda talked Lois and me into taking a "sisters" picture in the booth offering free photos. We were game, but were surprised to see a table piled high with funny hats and furs and tiaras and such like right outside the booth. Lois wanted to wear crazy hats. So we did. I think we were likely the only 50-ish people to do so. Lois had a flowery straw hat, I had a bright red hat with a red ribbon and rose, and Linda had a pink cowboy hat with a star in front. On the second round of pictures we took off the hats and peeked coyly from behind them for another set of pictures. Afterwards they printed and gave each of us a set of pictures. Silly us.

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Before the parade this morning an Amish man I did not recognize came up to me and told me that he was a student in my class at Elreka the year I did student teaching there under Debbie Charter. It bothered me all day that I had no specific recollections of him in that class. He must have been a trouble free student. We talked about other members of the class, noting that all the girls except for one had a name ending in "a": Regina, Starla, Brenda, Sheila, Donna, and Sheryl. (I'm probably forgetting someone.) We caught up a bit on each others' families, and I learned that their family's journey has included dealing with handicaps. He spoke well of the help that has been provided in public schools, especially now that the older daughter is in a classroom in the Buhler district.

My former student mentioned two things he really appreciates at Buhler: 1) Students in the "regular" classes can sign up to spend time voluntarily with the special needs students, and there is a waiting list for students who wish to do so. 2) Students are learning life skills like working in the kitchen, doing laundry, and other self-help skills. I love hearing about things that are going right when people in situations like this could very likely be tempted to focus on things that are not going well.

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Last week the teachers from Pilgrim attended the Associated Christian Schools International convention in Kansas City. I think we lucked out this year and found a bedbug-free motel.

Wes and I both attended several workshops on writing, and were both fired up with new inspiration for helping our students who struggle with writing. The Institute for Excellence in Writing has a system we covet.

In the motel room after the first day, we ladies rehashed our day, and on the way home after the second day we all told each other what we learned, reliving a lot of inspirational and hilarious moments in the process.

Phil Johnson and Hubert Hartzler were some of the speakers we especially enjoyed. Former ADHD kids grown up and gone good is how I peg some of these most interesting of speakers.

Being able to deliver one zinger after another with a perfectly straight face was a special talent of Johnson's. Everyone else regularly collapsed in laughter.

Hartzler told stories of his days as a school administrator, many of which made us all feel like we have a pretty tame life there at Pilgrim. Also, we think our parents get off pretty easy, with a minimum number of summons' to school for conferences with the principal. One of Hartzler's recurring themes was "Your child can come back to school after . . ." Hmm. I wonder what results we might get if we filled in that blank with some things I could think of . . .

Waiting on My Tomatoes

2011-10-10T21:17:00.000-07:00

All together we had 1.8 inches of rain over the weekend. It came slow and easy, and soaked and soaked. This morning we woke to fog, a very rare phenomenon this year.

When I headed out for school this morning, the sun had just broken through, and every leaf glistened with moisture, and then it dripped off in showers below the trees. At the overpass west of Pleasantview I was surprised by fog again on the other side--just as if the fog had rolled itself up from east to west like a giant fluffy cloud of polyester quilt batting, and I had caught up with it before it rolled out of sight. I plunged down into the fog and marveled at how quickly the world turned gray and clingy. By the time I had turned the Stutzman corner and gotten to W. Mills Ave., I could see dim shadows on the ground, cast by strengthening sun behind the tall trees at the old "Eli Yutzy" corner. When I got to school, only a mile further along, it was sunny again. The rest of the day was glorious--sunny, with a high of 72.

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One of Shane's cows chose the muddiest day in many months to cruise through the west garden. She did an amazingly good job of dodging the vegetables and flowers, but the paths were well churned up with hoof prints. The mulch mercifully covered many of her tracks. Hiromi and I interrupted our Sunday dinner preparations to don boots and head out into the rain to get her steered back to the herd. She had apparently pushed aside a panel to gain entrance. I got a bit of perverse pleasure imagining the deadly effect those hooves might have had on the voles or moles that have been crisscrossing the area all summer.

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Dorcas' mother was much improved today--apparently back to where she had been before the low spell last week. Praise God. Life suddenly looks simpler again to Shane and Dorcas.

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After school this evening I baked bread, canned a half bushel of tomatoes, emptied and refilled the dehydrator with apples, and did laundry. Now if those last jars in the canner would just finish I could go to bed.

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Dwight and Karen have neck pumpkin at the potluck. I love these hunga hunga Butternut squash. The neck is about two feet long and slightly curved. The skin and flesh look just like Butternut squash, and the flavor is the same. I also bought kohlrabi there tonight, and while I was there, Karen came in with a five-gallon bucket of beautiful beans. I think she said they've filled 20 bushels worth of orders within the past few weeks. There's no frost in the forecast so far, so this fall may be the best gardening weather of the summer.

***********************

Out and About in a Wet World

2011-10-08T15:19:00.000-07:00

It's raining! The weather pattern in place looks like we're in for a nice long drippy time for the next day or two. So far we've had only about a quarter of an inch.

Last night when I got home around ten after Dorcas' baby shower, I noted with dismay that the sky overhead was starry. It was still starry when I got up this morning to get ready for market, and for some reason the weather site was down and I couldn't check the forecast. I wasn't at market long, however, before Duane, the Amish guy in the next stall said "It's coming! I saw lightening in the west."

In the dark and busy setup time, I sensed a reined-in excitement--everyone not sure whether it was time yet to start rejoicing. After all, we've had high hopes many times, and we've had to choke them down as yet another system slid around us on one side or the other. An hour or so later, one of the customers talked to Duane's wife, Norma, in such excited tones about the rain on the way that I wouldn't have been surprised if she had done a dance right then and there, in front of the Amish lady's stall. By that time I could see a darkening sky in the narrow space visible between buildings to the west of the market.

I headed over to the Mennonite Manor Benefit Sale after Dorcas came to help Shane finish out the market day, and it started sprinkling soon after I got there. I overheard a lady I didn't know say that she had her wipers going all the time on Partridge Road. That's our road. This was sounding good, except that I winced at the sight of all the wood and upholstered furniture lined up outdoors to be sold at auction. Umbrellas and plastic ponchos appeared, and, on my way out to the parking lot on my way home, I met Michael H., who had apparently poked a hole for his head in the bottom of the big plastic bag he was wearing. A bunch of grade school boys were just getting situated underneath an empty hay wagon as I passed by. "Is it dry under there?" I heard one of them ask as he peered underneath before diving in.

The Manor Benefit Day raises funds to add to the Continuing Care Endowment Fund. This is one way of funding the care of people who live for a time after their resources run out.

I met Sandra, a high school classmate of mine who works on the board with Joel. I didn't know that.

I watched the auction long enough to see the Mexican pottery rabbit sell that I thought might make a trouble-free permanent resident of my flower bed. It was a very fat brown rabbit--pregnant, the auctioneer surmised. I hadn't gotten a number and didn't bid. Auctions intimidate me, but I could have collared Myron or Lowell or Joel to bid for me if I had been desperate enough. I didn't hear Lowell auctioneer, but I saw he was wearing a microphone, so I suppose he may have done so at times. Myron is also on the Manor board.

I met Clarissa inside the "rummage sale" area, and she and Hilda and I roamed the area together part of the time. That ended up being the site of my best bargain finds of the day. Before I left I got carryout lunches for both Hiromi and me. Marsha, a student at school, was the first person in the serving line, and lots of other familiar faces were present. The food was very good.

I really should have bought a fresh, hot doughnut from the place where the Joe Yoder and Marvin Nisly families were cranking them out.

I didn't hear whining because of the rain at the benefit sale. Everyone knew, I think, that opening one's mouth in such a way would risk swift rebuke from most of the people around here who have been praying desperately for rain for a long time.

************************

While I was gone this morning Hiromi was putting together the parts of my "new" computer. Can you feel the good vibes coming through as I type this? After it was up and running I found this note in my inbox, from my tech-savy son who was setting it up over the past few days:

"Hi there! I'm your new computer--or more precisely, the computer you'll be borrowing, probably on a long-term basis, from Joel. I'm a Dell Dimension XPS 420, and I'm big. I thought you might be interested in knowing that I'm waiting to meet you! Joel wanted to send a note along with my greetings."

More information followed about what had and had not been transferred over from the old computer.

The old keyboard didn't mesh with this computer, so Hiromi bought a new one yesterday. The hard drive came from Josh, Joel's co-worker, who offered it free after Joel mentioned needing one. I don't remember all the stats, but this machine used to be Joel's work computer, so I'm sure the stats are impressive.

When Joel was here Wed. eve. to deliver the CPU, he noted a small rectangular block-shaped computer part residing in my keyboard drawer. "That probably helps explain why it's slow," he said.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Well, running your computer without it is like running your car without a cooling system," he answered.

"Oh. Why is it in my drawer instead of on the computer?"

"Because it fell off and the bracket that held it in place broke off too."

I didn't remember when that happened, and apparently the small problem had dropped off the radar of everyone else who knew it at one time. So, no wonder my computer has been regularly serving up notices of Firefox crashes and scripts being busy, and just generally moving at a snail's pace, or lapsing into total paralysis. It was hot and bothered and couldn't think straight in that condition. I can relate.

*********************

Esther, Dorcas' mother, is not well. That has been the case for some time, of course, ever since she got a diagnosis of cancer in various places in her body--in May? In the past few days, however, things have gotten worse. She has had a fever, and her memory is very poor. Mark, Esther's husband, was taking her to the doctor yesterday, and promised to update the family after that. Shane and Dorcas had not heard by this morning.

Dorcas' due date is three weeks away. They have plans of going to VA before Thanksgiving, with Dorcas and the new baby staying there while Shane and the other Laudate singers practice in PA and tour in the area after Thanksgiving. Before then, Shane is to help sing at a wedding here, and he hoped to be at market every Saturday through the end of October. Rushing to Virginia now looks impossible, but the situation there looks grave. Prayers would be appreciated.

********************

Sadie, the lady on our front porch, now has a pumpkin resting on her feet, to help her maintain her balance. I bought the pumpkin from Roman at market.

Fresh green beans were present today, after a long absence this summer. A few had reappeared in the past few weeks. They're selling for $3.00 a pound.

Monster sweet potatoes seem to be plentiful, and winter squash, radishes, and turnips have appeared. Donald has beautiful lettuce and spinach. In the whole market, he had the most homegrown, outdoor-grown tomatoes--a half tub. That's how it's been since early July.

My brother Lowell trundled out to Colorado this week and brought back a van load of tomatoes. Some of them were Fabulous, the wonderful, good-flavored variety we grew last summer. Unfortunately they were mixed in with Shady Lady and Celebrity, so they couldn't be marketed separately.

Shane sold some at market today after the local tomatoes were gone. There was actually a bit of a snafu when we had already gotten permission to start selling them, and then everyone realized that there were still some locally grown hydroponic tomatoes being offered at one stall. Shipped-in produce is not supposed to be sold in competition with locally grown produce of the same kind. I suppose a person could argue that hydroponic and outdoor-grown tomatoes are not quite the same product, but if I were a hydroponic grower, I would not welcome such an argument.

Family Patterns

2011-10-02T23:26:00.000-07:00

Those of you who know my parental family well no doubt remember the very regular gender pattern of three girls, three boys, three girls, and three boys, in that order.

I've noticed a few other less obvious patterns. In one stretch, there are five whose children all have two Beachy preacher grandpas. One of them is my dad, of course. The other grandpas have these surnames: Yoder, Mast, Byler, Schrock, and Stutzman. They are the children of Lowell, Lois, Dorcas, Clara, and Ronald.

Some of us are still single. Of the remaining ones who are married, I am the only one who didn't marry someone whose surname starts with "H." The "H" surnames are Hass, Hodgson, and Hoover. Caleb, Carol, and Myron married those "H's."

Of those who were born to my parents, my sister Lois and my brother Lowell are the only ones who have never been a classroom teacher. Lois is a nurse, and Lowell has been in many church teaching assignments here (at Calvary Bible School) and abroad (Nicaragua and India). My brother Caleb started teaching later in life than most of us, but he is the only one who has taught every year since he started teaching--in about 1983 at Goshen College. He soon switched schools, but never left teaching.

**********************

Tonight our children and their spouses were here for our annual tempura feast. From them I heard a new term they're using for themselves: BK--Blogger's Kid. Unbeknownst to me they've been commiserating with others of their ilk.

I survived being a PK (Preacher's Kid). I guess they'll survive being BKs.

**********************

Hiromi has become very fond of Sadie. He especially likes her smile and couldn't resist bringing her here to live. At first he just called her "The Lady" till I said I thought she should have a proper name. So now she's Sadie, the lady.

Hiromi fell in love with Sadie at Wal-Mart, and she became his for a little less than $8.00. She is a scarecrow, and she's been manning her post next to the front door ever since he brought her home. That is, she's been manning the post when she's not lying flat on her face on the porch floor or when she's tilting a bit crazily sideways. The Kansas wind plays havoc with her balance, despite Hiromi's having tethered her with twine to the flower pot hooks on the porch wall, but the face plants, at least, are a thing of the past.

Sadie is wearing jeans and a farmerish checkered shirt. Why he thinks she's a lady is beyond me. Nothing about her is the slightest bit feminine, except perhaps that bewitching smile.

I suppose it's the same spirit that prompts Hiromi to refer to every annoying insect as a she. He hasn't quite conformed to the pattern of using masculine gender for every indefinite-gender creature. Way ahead of the feminists in this regard.

************************

The grandbaby's due date is four weeks away. Yay!!!

************************

The matter of Cedar Crest preachers is one of the late Ed and Lizzie Nisly extended family's trivia stories. One of their sons, Daniel, is a minister there. His nephew Leland (Lee) N. is the bishop. Another nephew, Donald (Don) M., is a minister. A third nephew, Brad N., was ordained just over a week ago. A niece, Janet, is married to the deacon, James S. None of them are Daniel's children, and none of them are siblings.

Six (unless I'm forgetting someone) other Nisly grandsons are ordained elsewhere. One of them is Daniel's son. Two are Janet's brothers, and one is Brad's brother. The other two have no siblings among the Cedar Crest minister's families. They come from seven different parental families. They serve in Canada, Costa Rica, New York City, Virginia, and at Center and Cornerstone in Kansas.

My uncle, Paul M., is the retired bishop at Cedar Crest. Paul and Daniel are first cousins.

**************************

I'm getting some very welcome responses to my request for articles on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Thanks to Judith N., Valetta Y., and Keith T. for ideas and links. I used to teach and live with Keith's mom, Esther, and she passed along my request. He's living and serving among Muslims in a major US city. I'd still be happy for more articles.

Articles Needed

2011-09-30T18:17:00.000-07:00

I am in need of a number of articles on the ongoing Palestinian-Israeli conflict. The articles can have editorial content, historical content, or they can be news reports. Recent news articles will likely be about the Palestinian bid for recognition of statehood by the UN, and I'd like some information on that, but not that only.

I've clipped and/or copied recent articles on the subject in Time and The Hutchinson News, so I don't need articles from those two sources. If you could send relevant online links to miriam@iwashige.com or give me a heads up with enough information so that I can find it myself, I would be grateful. Local folks have some additional options for informing me. Print copies would be useful, but not essential.

If anyone has first hand observations to share, I would welcome those too. I'd love to hear your commentary on any articles you pass along, but that's certainly optional.

I can, of course, search online myself, and I will do so if no one else's eyes and ears have already spotted something worthy of sharing.

The articles will be put to use at our high school. Sources will be cited.

Thanks for any help you can offer.

A Good Job

2011-09-25T18:52:00.000-07:00

Last Wednesday evening Harold had a topic on "Employer/employee" relationships. He had done a good piece of homework by gathering information from church people on both sides of the equation, and it was an interesting evening.

My dad quoted the president (not sure of his exact title) of Krause Plow, a local manufacturer of farm equipment, who had said publicly that they have trouble hiring well qualified people. In a phone call that Dad initiated, Mr. Brown named two reasons for why they usually have to process 25 applications in order to end up with one good employee a year later: 1) People in the work force often arrive with a sense of entitlement 2) People with a college education expect to be paid better than if they had none, even if the job and the education have no correlation.

I don't suppose this is the intended take-away lesson, but I think it's worth noting that if you want a good job, a college education isn't necessarily the ticket to that event. Especially if you equate "good job" with "high pay," you're likely to be disappointed, at least in the short term. If you dig all the money for a college education out of your own pocket, it's very likely that you'll spend years and many dollars during the first years of employment to pay it all back. Besides that, you've lost four years of time in which you might have been acquiring work-related skills on the job, and you might even have begun climbing whatever ladders you find within your field of work.

Compare that to the disappointment of having a pricey degree in hand and no one around hiring people with pricey degrees. The reality is that people with experience AND a degree are in a better position to get a job than people who have only a degree. This makes it seem advisable to get some job experience before college. Doing this has the added benefit of helping to clarify goals, and increases the chances that the degree earned is actually the one that will be the most help in a chosen career.

The take-away lesson for me is that if you want to attend college, do it with a goal other than a big income. Resolve to be satisfied with your choice, even if the big income never materializes. If you can't do that, don't waste your money. Education can be acquired in various ways, and the state-sanctioned way is not always the best way.

Joel added to the good employer list "Provision for Growth." That's one that's not on the radar for a lot of Mennonite-owned businesses, unless I'm misinformed, but it's ever-so-welcome, from an employee standpoint.

Good interpersonal skills, a solid work ethic, and a willingness to learn are qualities every employer appreciates--unless, of course, it's an employer who is not looking for good people, but instead is looking for automatons, who are good at NOT thinking--only good at working robotically. The Henry Ford-famous assembly line invention works best with this kind of employee. I think it's OK to resist being sucked into this kind of work arrangement, if there are other options. Such an environment is inhumane, and leaves one diminished instead of enriched.

Hard physical labor is not a disgrace, but it's a disgrace to treat other people as though they had only muscles and no heart or brain. Physical damage eventually results from interminable repetitive motions, and other kinds of damage have probably occurred long before the physical damage becomes apparent.

I wonder if anyone besides me thinks about the irony of having a topic on employer/employee relationships in an Amish Mennonite group, when there is no corresponding examination of the merits and challenges of being self-employed, or being a business owner without employees. This is one area in which we Amish people are not doing very well anymore at being Amish--to the detriment of our traditional way of life, I believe.

Fifty years ago, or less, the majority of family heads in our church would have fit into the latter category--not the employer/employee one. I wonder sometimes why we're not more proactive about encouraging the small family business way of life. I suspect that too many of the shakers and movers among us are also employers who have a vision mostly for growing their own business, and it's not directly to their benefit if the employment pool shrinks because of men choosing to work at or from home.

These business owners do offer a valuable service to people who will always be more comfortable working for someone else, or people whose employment years are just beginning. But, as a matter of principle, it would seem admirable to provide support and encouragement for other men to enjoy the same family friendly benefits as business owners enjoy. For them to do this would be like being a schoolteacher advocating for and providing support for homeschooling. Been there, done that.

Economics is probably not the biggest benefit of family businesses. Freedom for parents and children to work alongside each other ranks high on my list of benefits.

Being able to participate in volunteer service opportunities is also a benefit. I don't have any illusions about home business owners having lots of extra time. It feels very different, however, for a man who has worked with his family all week to volunteer a day of work away from home on a Saturday than it does for a man who has only Saturday to work alongside his family. If we value these "helping each other" traditions, can't we see how family businesses facilitate them, as well as other aspects of church body life? We feel better about going to an evening meeting when we've been home all day than if we've landed there just long enough to get ready to go away again.

How about the apprenticeship model of learning a trade? Does this no longer hold any appeal for us? It's true, of course, that learning a trade from one's parents is not the only possible apprenticeship arrangement, but learning that first has benefits that often transfer easily to learning a new skill later in life.

I've often prayed for the growth of a vision among us for helping each other establish family friendly ways of earning a living. I think I'll keep right on praying.

**********************

During Harold's topic several people shared Fred Mast anecdotes about work:

In a conversation Fred had with someone who was talking of hiring him, the man answered a question about how much he would pay Fred. "Whatever you're worth," he said.

"I won't work that cheap," Fred replied.

Another time when Fred inquired about a job, he made it clear that what he really wanted was a position--not work.

Fred was a member of our church when he died a a number of years ago. We miss his slightly offbeat sense of humor. He never actually worked for anyone else in my memory, and was probably well off financially, although you couldn't have told by his lifestyle. He was easygoing and generous, which endeared him to many.

On Freddie and Solzhenitsyn

2011-09-18T18:10:00.000-07:00

OK, that's a fairly lame title. Probably not as lame as Sunday Wrapup 9/18/2011 though, which is what it would have been otherwise.

*************************

We got six tenths inch of rain last night. It was an occasion for thanksgiving in church this morning, and long before then, no doubt, for whoever heard the rain during the night. The troubles are not over for the long term, however, as today's National Weather Service story proclaimed: Severe To Exceptional Drought Continues Over the Southern Half of Kansas.

*************************

My sister Carol is much improved and returned home after almost two days in the hospital. The last I heard, there was no definitive diagnosis, although a blood clot was considered a possible cause of the pain.

*************************

Today we were at David and Susanna's for Sunday dinner, along with the Choice Books guys who attend Center regularly, and several others. It was a pleasant afternoon, and helped me avoid my Sunday afternoon nap without regret.

************************

Yesterday Freddie and his best doggie friend from down the road at Cliff's house must have taken each other for a walk. They ended up at a residence across the section to the west.

Freddie is a Welsh Corgi, and Mrs. Southards thought perhaps he was our dog. She has biked past our place in the past and seen Shane's dogs here, one of whom is a tri-colored Corgi named Brandi. Freddie has similar coloration.

From Jonny, who owns Freddie, I've heard tales about how much Freddie loves Gator rides. (I think that's an All-Terrain Vehicle.) This causes a training dilemma when Freddie strays. They usually retrieve him with the Gator, inadvertently rewarding him for his naughtiness.

Freddie has been known to sneak into the shed or garage where the Gator is stored, whenever the door opens. Then he climbs onto the seat and waits for someone to indulge him by giving him a ride. Silly, irresistible dog.

*************************

The "Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing" program we have used for typing class at school for years is giving us fits this year. Maybe it's not the program itself, but something about the computers running it. It locks up repeatedly, and necessitates a start-over. I think I'm getting as tired of having to bother Mr. Schrock as he is tired of being bothered. The students, of course, are as tired of it as anyone. We've been in contact with the business that maintains our equipment, so maybe there's help on the way. I hope so.

*************************

Here at home, I am dealing with my own set of computer problems.

Hiromi has given me almost daily admonitions about getting rid of old emails, with solemn intonations about when a hard drive is clogged up like this, all the little bits of information have to be stored in the tiny spaces wherever there's room, so it takes a long time to find available storage and then retrieve it later. (I've taken to asking him if this is lecture number 5--or whatever--and he says yes to whatever I ask.) So I have deleted thousands of old emails. It doesn't help. Firefox still regularly crashes and all its functions are as slow as a caterpillar crossing the road. I can't even delete anything fast.

Joel is offering us the use of a machine he used to use at work. It needs a new hard drive, but $40.00 should get us up and running.

**********************

We cleaned the church again this week. Ditto the message from two weeks ago about clogged toilets, except this time it was in the ladies restroom.

There was an apparent glitch in one part of the process. Hiromi told me tonight rather casually that his cleaning didn't pass inspection. Shane, who is one of the Sunday School superintendents and sits up front on Sunday mornings, apparently came upon an un-swept-up dirt pile somewhere near the front of the sanctuary. He suggested to Hiromi after church that maybe he'll want to slip over before church on Wednesday evening to sweep it up.

Hiromi is actually a very efficient and through worker, and we all know that forgotten details like this are quite untypical of him, so no lectures on the matter are necessary.

***********************

Earlier this summer I had done some reading on making sourdough starter with flour and liquid, which, when everything works right, eventually provides leavening for stellar, zesty-flavored breads. I have memories of my grandmother and my aunts making sourdough bread, and I was fascinated by the challenge.

I carefully printed out the instructions on how to do it, using pineapple juice as the liquid. The rationale for using this instead of water or milk was fascinating--documented by a home baker who also works as a microbiologist. I even borrowed my sister's grain mill so that I could use fresh-ground flour. Then life happened, and we went to Grant's wedding and school started and Saturdays were market days, and I didn't get the starter started.

But today, over Sunday dinner, Lovell, who is into all sorts of natural foods, talked about sourdough bread, and I was reminded of my unfinished project. So I'm almost ready again. Sourdough bread, here we come.

********************

Yesterday was the first Saturday since the middle of May that I didn't go to Farmer's Market, necessitating a rising time of 5:00 or earlier. I think it was the most relaxing day ever. I had forgotten that it was possible to sleep till 9:30. (My high school students could no doubt have reminded me.) I woke up several times at more reasonable getting up times, but every time I smiled because I didn't have to get up. Then I rolled over and kept right on sleeping. If this is a perk of being empty nesters, maybe I'll be OK with it after all.

Shane and Dorcas manned the market booth. It was cool enough for someone in the third trimester of pregnancy to avoid overheating.

*******************

Hiromi is moving a bit painfully the past few days. His back hurts.

"Does Mark have back problems?" Hiromi asked tonight. Before I could think where he was going with this, he reminded me that if Mark is in this back-problems group, that gives all our sons and their wives a dad with back problems. Maybe our grandchildren will be subjected early to back-muscle strengthening exercises.

None of our boys have had back injuries, which was not the case with either Hiromi or Bob by the same age as our boys have now.

***********************

I was saddened to learn of the death of Atlee Troyer from Sugarcreek, Ohio. He was the husband of my dear friend Clara (Ropp) who was my co-teacher and housemate when I taught school in Ohio.

He had a stroke about a week ago, and when it became apparent that he was unlikely to recover, he went home from the hospital and died there several days later. I don't have plans to attend the funeral, but my thoughts will be there and I'm praying for the family. Being a thousand miles away at such a time is a significant hurdle in time and money.

********************

I'm wading through the 500+ page Too Big to Fail book, and am still finding it really interesting. I'm also wading through the written reports the students wrote on America's Finances. This would be a lot faster if I didn't have to evaluate and assign a grade to them.

This week I came across an online BBC news report with the title "Is Greece the Next Lehman Brothers?" and reflected on the fact that such a title would have a host of meanings and associations for our students, whereas a month ago, nothing about that headline would likely have clicked with them.

I wonder if September 2011 will someday be viewed as Europe's watershed event as September 2008 was America's. September 15 was the date that Lehman Brothers filed for bankruptcy.

I consider it one of the perks of teaching that I have an excuse to learn about things like this. I'm certainly more engaged with the events in Europe now than I would be otherwise. For them, there are political implications that weren't in play in the U.S. The integrity of the European Union as a political entity is in question if Greece, and then likely also Italy and Spain go down in financial flameouts.

In the online reviews of Too Big to Fail, someone complained that the author doesn't assign blame for the catastrophic events. The reviewer claimed that the author had not done his job right since he did not reach a conclusion and present it in writing. I beg to differ. I like a book like this that tells exactly what happened and lets the reader make up his own mind. I don't need that author to tell me what to think. If he had felt compelled to boil it all down to a simple good guys/bad guys formula, the story would have been much diminished. Every character involved had some good and bad traits and made some good and bad choices. That's true to life.

My most sweeping analysis of the characters involved in the near-meltdown of America's finances is that most of them needed their mouth washed out with soap when they were children. Either that, or they acquired a foul mouth in adulthood and should have repented of it by their own choice.

**********************

My cousin Duane recently quoted Soltzhenitsyn in a discussion of politics on Facebook: " . . . the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. ..." That insight should temper whatever inclination we have to pin succinct labels on people with a prominent public profile--or without one, for that matter.

"Judge not that ye be not judged" the Bible says. That simple injunction is apropos for any situation.

Quote for the Day 9/17/2011

2011-09-17T11:24:00.000-07:00

Background: W------, who works as a plumber, came to church on Wed. eve. in his work clothes. The day's work must have involved navigating some crawl spaces on his stomach, judging by how the clothes looked on the front side.

David Y. (our bishop), shaking W------'s hand after church : Good evening, W------. Thank you for coming.

**********************

Euni (to W------) : Wow, you're making A----- [his girlfriend] look really good.

W------ : She doesn't need my help to look good.

*********************

Good one, W------. A zinger of a compliment, and a shunting aside of the focus on his appearance--all in one easy application.

Vastly amusing.

Sunday Wrapup 9/11/2011

2011-09-11T20:01:00.000-07:00

I'm worried just now about my sister Carol. She is in the emergency room in the Kansas City area with severe pain in both legs, and is hardly able to walk. They're giving her anti-inflammatory medication and doing further testing.

I'm thankful that her husband Roberto is home. His job takes him to churches all over the country, and Carol is often alone, now that her girls are grown up.

Carol is next to me in the family--just younger.

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The state fair in Hutchinson is underway. Rain during the fair is a long-standing tradition. This year especially we hope the tradition is honored.

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Here's an excerpt from Facebook that I found interesting. The first poster is Kathy, who is from our church. She is working at Faith Builders currently, and the announcement she heard is about a program for which my father is partially responsible. I've omitted some identifying details.

Today I visited the Plainview Beachy church,and the person who was making announcements was talking about the CASP program and how they're needing some more volunteers for next January and February. He said that this is in Hutchinson, KS. He paused,and then continued,"If any of you know where that is. It's out on the prairie somewhere...."

- Aaron M I advise you to find that man and show him on the map exactly where Hutchinson, KS is. Make sure he knows how awesome of a place this is.
- Lisa S
- Kathy, tell him we can mail him a map so he can find us:)
- Kathleen T You could suggest that he come to Hutchinson for the CASP program to experience our wonderful state.
- Gene L M Not all bad that not everyone knows/ appreciates the beauty KS and its people; we don't want everyone moving out here and turning it into another Mennotropolis!
- Jared S It's outside PA, how was he supposed to know anything about it?
- Kore B What's the fuss? It's true isn't it? :)
- Danny Y What a sad, sheltered life
- Kathleen T Kore, The Hutchinson, Kansas is much more than just the beauty of a wide open sky and beautiful fields of sunflowers and golden wheat. Our Mennonite community is an extremely accepting and caring group of people. I not only am a transplant from an eastern community, but also from non-Mennonite background and I would never want to live anywhere else.
- Kathleen T That was suppose to read The Hutchinson, Kansas community.
Write a comment...

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To most Mennonites, we here in Kansas appear to be on the fringes of civilization, when in reality, we are smack in the middle of the country and the heaviest concentrations of Mennonites are far toward the eastern fringe.

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Davy and Luann M. have spent the summer here with their family. Tomorrow they leave Kansas to return to their home in S. Carolina. They lived next to my sister Linda and across the street from my parents, so they and Davy's brother Marvin's family will especially miss them.

On Labor Day I heard Davy tell the story of his young son Alex's fascination with trash trucks. Alex went so far as to fantasize about how ideal it would be if he had a fatal accident that would result in him going to heaven where he was pretty sure he would be allowed to drive a trash truck.

Marvin N. from our church heads up the trash service his father established more than 50 years ago, and made Alex very happy when he directed one of his employees to pick up Alex and take him along on part of his route through Partridge.

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This is the week Dr. Jana flies home from El Salvador to have hip replacement surgery. She experiences a lot of pain, and I pray her trip is manageable and her problem can be corrected. A lot of people depend on her for medical care, but for a time, she will need to depend on others for care.

*********************

America's Finances, the subject of this month's current events/issues study at school, is proving to be far more interesting to me than I anticipated. I am sooooo not a numbers person, but Too Big to Fail by Andrew Ross Sorkin is written with enough human interest and drama to keep me engrossed.

A decade from now, I suspect that the events of September 2008 will appear in retrospect to be almost as game-changing for Americans as was September 11, 2001.

If we are to believe what investigative reporters and leading economists say, our country came very close to a complete meltdown in September 2008--a time when no one anywhere could have withdrawn money from any bank. An infusion of government cash into some of the largest investment banks averted the disaster of one bank after another falling like dominoes, filtering down eventually to all the local banks in this country and abroad.

Was it fair that taxpayers came to the rescue of people who acted irresponsibly with their own and other people's money? Of course not. Would it have been better to withhold the cash and let the big banks go down the tubes along with a whole world of people, most of whom had not contributed to the problem? I think not.

Saving the banks ultimately kept the financial system churning along--not well, but not totally incapacitated. Most of us can go to our banks and withdraw our deposits if we decide to. Fareed Zakaria says that the government aid is working exactly as it was designed to work. The banks were supposed to recover first. Only then could businesses and consumers access funds to supply their own needs and to help the economy grow. Understandably, this rankles people on Main Street who see that people on Wall Street are doing very well, while Main street is still suffering.

***********************

I listened to Obama's Thursday night jobs speech on YouTube. Watching John Boehner's response was pretty funny sometimes. Flanking the president on the other side was Joe Biden, who did a lot of clapping and a lot of standing up to clap. No such enthusiasm on Boehner's part. Stoicism was much in evidence. I concede that the clapping and standing ovations were probably overdone, and somewhere between Biden and Boehner there should have been a happy medium.

I really enjoyed Obama's speech--reasonable, in my opinion--direct, clear, and passionate. I don't know if any of what he wishes to see happen is possible, given the realities of political machinations and paralysis. I'm not positive that his proposals chart the best possible course of action, but I have the sense that they're preferable to both intransigence and repetitious utterances of mind numbing talk show or political rally mantras.

I also liked a Huffington Post writer's analysis of how Obama's speech clarified which former president Obama was most likely to emulate as he continues to define himself before the next election. So far the possibilities have focused on FDR and Reagan. The HP writer declared that the debate determined that it would be neither. Instead it would be Truman--"Give 'em ______ Harry" or, in this case "Give 'em __________ Barry."

On a side note, I noticed that many of the female members of Congress wore red to listen to Obama's speech. In the sea of dark suits, the red ladies fairly shouted their presence. Maybe wearing red makes them feel powerful.

************************

The National Weather Service had several stories this week on their website about the heat and drought of the summer of 2011. Each article named states that were especially hard hit. Kansas was not mentioned in either list.

This made sense to me when I thought of how much rain fell in Kansas this year only slightly north, west, and east of here. Overall, the state averages were probably not that different from usual.

Another article on the same page says that La Nina (How do you make an enya?) looks like it will be in place again next year just as it was this year. When I read this, my heart "stank" (as Harry S. used to say). I really am not hoping for a repeat of the past season's weather pattern. Usually the north gets more moisture than usual and the south gets less if this pattern is in place. Lord, have mercy.

***********************

Last winter we had a field full of rodeo animals across the road east of our place. They were owned by the Krafts of Abbyville. This past week was the funeral of 28-year old Bronc Kraft, who was involved in the family's rodeo stock business. He was pulling two trailers when his vehicle stalled on the railroad tracks. When a train approached, he left the vehicle, but was hit with flying debris from the collision between the train and the stalled vehicle. He called his father to tell him he had had a little accident. Then he dialed 911. He died later in the hospital.

***********************

Grant and Clarissa crept into the house at about 11:30 pm to look at their wedding pictures on Grant's computer. They don't have internet access or a computer at their house, so they keep coming here to use it. I think it's nice they have a good reason to keep coming back.

Dreaming Big

2011-09-09T06:41:00.001-07:00

Overheard yesterday over lunch, outside:

Unidentified student: My head hurts.

Brandon: My head hurts too. It's because of the halo trying to grow there. My lower back hurts too. I've got two jet engines trying to grow there. Someday I'll be able to just reach back there and start them up, and go flying off on my own.

Quote for the Day 9/7/2011

2011-09-07T16:18:00.000-07:00

At the Labor Day church picnic, when I told the people at my table about the thick standing wheat and the wide, deep windrows of cut hay we saw in Eastern Washington several weeks ago:

Joe Y. : I think that would have made me cry. I've had such a longing to see a nice thick hay windrow . . .

Joe has a custom haying business. Because of the summer-long drought, hay has hardly grown, and very little has been harvested, so income for the business has been sparse as well. Joe described how frustrating it has been to hardly be able to see the skimpy windrow, especially in the dark, when he's found himself wandering around because he couldn't see where he wanted to drive.

******************

Right now we're in a week-long stretch of perfect weather. Rain would add to the perfection, and help make the view as beautiful as the temperature and atmosphere.

Fall Weather and a Brain on Vacation

2011-09-03T19:56:00.000-07:00

I loved Doris M.'s Facebook post where she mused that "You might be from Kansas if you're praying for rain while hanging out laundry." The rain did indeed pass us by one more time this weekend, but we're still smiling about the weather.

Last week we had one 107 degree day and other days over 100, but today, and throughout all of this week, the high is to be around 80. Nights range from a predicted low of 49 tonight to just under 60 some nights this week. Can you imagine how welcome this change feels? The wind is from the north and sounds like a winter wind. Snuggling under the covers at night feels good.

*********************

Tonight I'm hearing a cricket in the house for the first time this season. Hiromi said, "Good. That'll save me money." He's making a playful reference to having bought a pet cricket as a child. He kept it in a tiny cricket cage and fed it little bits of cucumber.

"If you catch that cricket in the kitchen, it's fine with me if you want to keep it in a cage."

***********************

We just got home from attending a housewarming and grocery shower for Grant and Clarissa. I overheard one of the men say, "If you're too proud to have goats, and too poor to have cattle, you get Dexters instead." Shane was the only one in that crowd who owns Dexters, so I suppose the comment was for his benefit.

***********************

My brain seems to have gone on vacation during part of this weekend. I forgot to take the scale and the cash box to market on Saturday. They are the two most essential pieces of equipment in our booth. Hiromi brought them out, after a phone call which interrupted his leisurely breakfast preparations here at home. He didn't complain or scold or anything. He just did what needed doing.

The drama had begun the evening before when I got home from the staff appreciation supper the school board provided, with my flowers still unpicked. Hiromi to the rescue again. He held the flashlight and held the flowers after I picked them. We were out in the west garden when we saw a light bobbing along the fence row in the cows' grazing area. "Shane, is that you?" It was. He had built some electric fence and had only to turn it on before he went home. Except that when he turned on the fencer, it was very dead. So he walked the fence after dark, checking for problems by the light of his cell phone. While he was doing that, Dorcas called him, too tired to figure out by herself what to do with the contents of a jar of salsa that had broken when she put it into the canner.

Hiromi's misspent time occurred when he joined the staff appreciation supper after he got off work. I had told him it was at Center, which is what I was told. Just before I left home I got a phone call with the corrected location--Cedar Crest. I couldn't get word to Hiromi so I put a note on the door at Center. He never found it, but when he saw that Center was deserted, he went to Cedar Crest instead. It's a good thing they're not so very far apart.

Tonight I showed up at Grant's house without the paperware I had agreed to bring. I really thought someone else was bringing these things, but after having my memory jogged, I realized that yes, indeed, the duty was mine, and I failed to carry it out. Shane went home and got some from their house.

I also forgot about how not having our kitchen stove leveled would affect the baking of a large Texas Sheet Cake for the rescue mission. It came out of the oven very high along the one side and very low along the other. I gave Lois a heads up that the pieces might have to be adjusted when it was time to cut the cake--big pieces along the low side and smaller ones along the high side. This was not an ego boosting experience.

Perhaps it was just as well that the brain wasn't very sharp when I encountered a clogged toilet in the men's restroom while doing my bit to clean the church on Saturday evening. Being able to avoid breathing through your nose is a more useful skill in such cases than is a fertile imagination.

*********************

This early in the school year we've already seen heartwarming evidence of maturity and openness in some of our students. Despite difficult personal challenges, they're reaching out for help, without casting blame on others or being vindictive, although the temptation to do both must be very real. Someone they trust must be working and walking with them in a way that makes this kind of response possible. I love seeing people come together to help those who are hurting.

**********************

My sister-in-law Kara's mother died last week at the age of 90. She had moved a number of years ago from Fort Madison, Iowa, where they had raised their family to Pennsylvania where Caleb and Kara live. A funeral service was held today in Pennsylvania, and a second service will take place on Wednesday in Iowa, with burial there following. She was a widow, and her husband is also buried in Fort Madison.

Coming at the beginning of the school year complicates things for Caleb's family. Caleb, Sterling, and Joelle are all in college as teacher or student.

Sarah Hass was a sweet and gentle Christian lady, and an accomplished fabric artist. Her specialty was quilted wall hangings--not primarily geometric shapes, but scenes (There's probably a better way to describe this, but I lack the proper quilter's vocabulary.). Some of her work was featured in magazines and books.

Fort Madison is on the Amtrak line between here and Chicago, so going there by train from Hutchinson would be very simple. The town is on the eastern border of the state, on the Mississippi River.

**********************

Little Sabrina Miller needs another surgery this week to replace one section of the shunt that drains excess fluid from her brain. She just passed her first birthday, and has seemed to be doing well of late. Shunt failure, however, threatens to result in extra pressure on her brain, and must be avoided if her brain is to develop as normally as possible. She was born with Spina bifida and had multiple surgeries in the first few months of her life. She's a plump little girl, and is obviously thriving on the good care she's getting.

*********************

Tomorrow is the annual Labor Day church picnic. Hiromi has to work, but I plan to go. First, though, I plan to go to bed without setting an alarm. For me, the labor will wait.

Prelude to the Wedding

2011-08-29T15:32:00.000-07:00

Whenever someone asks how Grant and Clarissa met, I almost always feel compelled to offer some sort of apology, or disclaimer, or at least continue the story in a bit of a regretful tone of voice. Bob and Kathy feel the same way, I learned.

I sometimes start out by saying they met on the internet, and then quickly add "but it's not as bad as it sounds," or "but not on a dating site."

At other times I say, "Oh it's embarrassing . . ."

In some of our earlier correspondence with Clarissa's parents, her mother wrote, "Since this was our first experience with a computer-generated courtship, we were very cautious." I would certainly have hoped so. No disagreement there.

Here's a blow by blow account of what I know of how things transpired. First, a caveat: Grant is the most tight-lipped member of our family, so I've had to read between the lines, pump him for information, or count on intelligence from a variety of sources to put this picture together. On a few occasions, he has been forthcoming--more so of late than earlier.

Some time ago, Grant's friend, Connie H. (who is the niece of my brother-in-law, Matthew) suggested to Grant that he might enjoy reading some of Shaunti Feldhan's books. She is a Christian author who writes about male/female differences. Her books are quite popular and have made their mark in the business world--which is the focus of some of her writing. Grant bought some of her books, and then looked up her website, where he found an active young people's forum. He began participating in the conversations and, somewhere along the line, mentioned his Mennonite identity. He was attending a BMA church at the time.

Clarissa picked up on that and responded with information about her own connection with Mennonites--their family's former association, in her case. At some point they began to correspond personally outside the forum. Her mother told me recently that she talked to them early on about "that Mennonite guy." Grant was not talking to us about Clarissa yet, and we were clueless. (Do you hear that clucking sound?)

At some point, Grant got interested enough to give her father a call. He suggested that Grant come for a visit. That was when Grant first told us about the friendship. Last week I told Bob I was glad Grant had talked to him early on, and Bob said, "I'm sure Clarissa knew it wasn't going anywhere unless he did." So this move might have been as much practical as noble. Bob also told Clarissa that she and Grant needed to have some face time. This long-distance friendship couldn't/shouldn't go on too long without that. Bob had a specific suggestion: Grant should come to Washington and surprise Clarissa on her 20th birthday.

I was dubious about that plan at first. To Grant I said, "You make sure this is alright with her mother. If it's just a plan the men hatched up, it might not go over so well with the ladies." Grant dutifully reported back that Kathy thinks it's OK. (I found out last week that Grant told them his mom is a little worried . . . That means he was listening to me!)

Bob met Grant at the airport and they had dinner together. The plan was that if all went well (read: if Grant passed inspection), he would take Grant to a sleeping place near the Prettyman home, and they would reveal the secret the next day. Grant was deposited at the Beckman's after dark. They are close neighbors and good friends of the Prettymans.

Mrs. Beckman told me that they didn't know for sure about having this guy they'd never met spend the night at their house. Bob told us that she asked him how they know he's not a serial killer or something. Bob cheerfully told her, "That's why he's sleeping at your house the first night."

The next morning, someone sneaked Grant along the back trails of the property into the guest room/office building in the clearing near the family home. There was a big family birthday breakfast planned, and when Clarissa was ready for it, her family told her that she should go first to the shed--their name for the little finished-out mini-barn--for something that came for her birthday. Prior to this, her sister Angeleise had seated herself on top of a file cabinet out there, camera in hand. As soon as she left the house, someone called Grant to warn him that she was on her way. He waited on the couch.

Clarissa opened the door, and Grant said, "Hi, Clare." She stared, and put her hand in front of her mouth, and giggled, and then finally gave him a hug.

The visit went quite smashingly, and when he got home, he was talking of spending the winter in Washington. We thought that might be a good thing, partly because both of his jobs here were seasonal, and he didn't have much to do during the winter. Someone in Washington said he would have work for Grant, doing snow removal. Clarissa visited here within the next few months, and shortly after she returned home, Grant followed. He left just before Thanksgiving, and came back to Kansas on March 1.

The job never materialized, which was a disappointment, so Grant spent the winter doing lots of jobs around the homestead. That was very much appreciated. Clarissa's siblings loved him and he had a good time with them. I was glad for this chance he had to experience life in a big family. As the youngest child in our small family, life got pretty quiet here sometimes. He came home with "Emma" stories--the precocious 3-year old who was everyone's pet.

Grant and Clarissa became engaged around Valentine's Day, so wedding plans were being made when Grant returned to Kansas. Clarissa spent two months here later, mostly in April and May. By then plans were in place to live in Kansas, because that's where Grant had work, and we began to work on the Trail West house where we used to live, and where we hope to live again some day. Clarissa did lots of painting and she and I planted a garden. Shane had done a lot of work on remodeling the kitchen and bathroom before Clarissa got here.

The logistics of finding a suitable wedding date were challenging because of needing to be before fall harvest (for Grant), before school (for me), not in Bob's busy season with his business (He lost out on this score.), when the church was available, and when a pastor to marry them was available (Their pastor was on vacation in August.), and when Angeleise was not away at camp. August 20 worked better than any other date, so that's when it happened. The pastor who married them was not their current pastor, but the family had attended his church earlier.

Grant and Clarissa haven't settled on a church home here. Clarissa's Baptist parents and we are praying about this. I'm not sure if we're praying exactly the same prayers, but I do know that all of us parents want to see them committed to a church with a track record of obedience to Scripture and in a place where someone with a shepherd's heart will challenge and nurture them in the path of discipleship.

The People

2011-08-28T17:02:00.000-07:00

As Clarissa said last night, Mennonites play the "connections" game better than anyone else. I'm on for such a game.

The big surprise was on Wed. eve. in church after we got back when Henry Schrock exclaimed, "So Grant got married to Bob Prettyman's daughter!" He remembered Bob--something we had never thought to inquire about.
In Washington, where we knew very few people, we nevertheless discovered quite a few common friends and past experiences. They were present among the Pine Grove Mennonites, the Deer Park Mennonites, and the ex-Mennonites in the Clayton/Deer Park/Chewelah, WA area north of Spokane.

Sherilyn (Hertzler) Martin and I were in the same Writer's Workshop for a number of years. Her parents and sister go to Pine Grove. Sherilyn co-authored a book, The Hand that Rocks the Cradle, with Sue Hooley. At Sherilyn's request I had critiqued the book, and I think I had at least one contribution to the text. I met Sue Hooley for the first time at Pine Grove. We also met Clayton Eveleth, who said he had been at Bible school in Hartville years ago with Daniel Nisly. Charlie Kessler told Hiromi that Henry Schrocks from our church sometimes stayed with them when they passed through on their way to western Washington where they used to drive to spend the winter with their daughter Mildred near Seattle. Jack Kessler told us he met Grant when he was in Washington last winter. Joe Miller's wife Freida (Mullet) used to be a member at Maranatha where I taught school for five years in Ohio. Frieda invited us home for dinner, but someone else beat her to it. Kudos to this church for their hospitality.

From Elizabeth Schrock from here we learned that Betsey (Mrs. Charlie) Kessler is a sister to Mary Sullivan, Ben's mother, who passed through here on their way west and home from Kentucky several years ago. I wrote a blog post about Ben here.

At the wedding we met Clarissa's former teacher Nelson Rudolph, who is a relative of the David Rudolph family from Greencastle, PA. I've known this family since I was in my early twenties. Nelson's wife was a Kessler.

Carolyn Schrock told me that Rose Nissley from here was her former teacher. Carolyn and Jeff's names were familiar because they were dear friends of Clarissa's family, and because of the tragedy in their family several years ago when all five of their children were instantly killed in an auto accident that also injured Jeff seriously enough to keep him from being able to attend his children's funeral.

Kathy Prettyman (Clarissa's mother) showed us the spot in the road where the accident happened. It was on a four-lane highway, and the driver of the other vehicle crossed the median from the northbound lane to hit the Schrock vehicle head on in the southbound lane. Jeff and Carolyn showed us their children's graves high on a hill near their church--five identical gravestones, each with a different name and birth date, but all with the same death date, in 2005, I believe. After a stop at the cemetery, they took us home for a delicious impromptu Sunday dinner. They also invited Tim and Joyce Eveleth, who added some offerings from their planned meal, and it was a perfectly delightful spread of food and time of fellowship.

Jeff and Carolyn have two preschool children, a son and daughter. This second family is as dear and bright as I'm sure their first family was. By all appearances, Jeff has recovered fully.

Among the Prettyman family friends, we met people whose last names were Larson, Markovic, Beckman, and Balhome. Many of these people had moved en masse from western Washington a number of years ago. They were mostly homeschoolers who were in search of a rural area in which to live, and they happened to choose the area where the Prettymans and a group of Mennonites also settled. For a time they were all together in first one Mennonite church, and then in another, but they eventually went their separate ways, and now are connected mostly by geography and shared memories. In some cases, there are still many shared values, but in others, the common values they once espoused must seem a very distant memory.

We really enjoyed learning to know Bob and Kathy's family. Besides Clarissa, there are four girls, and five boys. Clarissa is the fourth oldest, behind Garret, Austin, and Tara. Just younger than her are Colton, Angeleise, Jackson, Jed (Jedediah), Olie (Olivia), and Emma (Emmaline--long i). Emma just turned four and really misses her big sister, who moved very far away to Kansas. Garret, Austin, and Tara no longer live at home. Tara is married to Jon, and Garret plans to marry Marsela, who was born in Serbia. Austin and Colton attend college in the area. This is an intelligent, articulate, resourceful, and creative bunch.

Some time in the nineties, the Prettyman's bought a thickly wooded property and began to clear a driveway and building site. They used rough-cut lumber from the property to construct a no-frills house on a cement slab. The house is very comfortable, but is still being finished in stages. When they moved into it, it was a big improvement over living in a single-wide mobile home with seven children. Avoiding indebtedness is a high priority for them, and "making do" is preferable to living on a standard they can't afford. I admire them for this principled choice.

Kathy's dad was a contractor and designed the house, so it has good bones and forms an easy canvas for lots of creative ways to use the space. Instead of sleek, custom-made cabinets in the kitchen, they have a collection of cupboards and shelves and countertops and curtains like something you might see in a French Country kitchen. I'm sure that a lot of what they use everyday would qualify as antiques, but for them, it's just what they've found, fixed up, and made use of. It's a three bedroom house, with all the girls in one room and all the boys in another.

The slightly crowded sleeping conditions prompted the older boys to look for some creative alternatives. When Garret and Austin still lived at home, the family bought a garden-shed minibarn, and the boys finished it out as an office and bedroom. It's lined with very nicely done tongue and groove wood on the walls and peaked roof. The half that now serves as guest quarters has a hide-a-bed couch, refrigerator, microwave, and bottled water cooler/heater.

This is where Grant stayed when he was there last winter, and we stayed there over the time of the wedding. A really slick porta-potty was installed right next to the building. I didn't know they had special wedding models, but this one had a dispenser for papers to place on the toilet seat, a sink with running water (if you started it by stomping on the rubber bubble underneath it), paper towels, a mirror, a hand-sanitizer dispenser, and a solar light. The only improvement I could think of would be some kind of sound proofing. This must be a universal design flaw of porta-potties. No problem, of course, if they're placed in a clearing in the woods without other people around, as ours was.

Colton too has begun to build himself a "home" outside the family home. His is elevated, with the lower story mostly enclosed with timber. The ground floor serves as a shed for his bicycle and other outdoor gear. His "engineer brain" came in handy for designing and building this place. It's not finished out on the inside yet, and progress slowed considerably when he began to help regularly in the family business.

When Clarissa undertook building construction as an adolescent, it was for her rabbits. She took pity on them for having to live in such a small space, so she made a proper building for them by hauling small logs out of the woods and using them to build a shed. I saw pictures of the project while it was underway.

Elsewhere on the property, the men have constructed sheds and shops in a way that makes sense for the climate and the available resources. The workshop is a partial dugout. Another structure is constructed of poles from the woods, with huge tarps stretched over the framework to provide protection from the elements. With all the wind protection from the surrounding trees, this works better for them than it would for us.

Garret, who now works in landscape maintenance, provided the brains and the main force behind the landscaping that was done around the house. Rail fences and rock borders define the edges of the yard and flower beds, and Kathy has indulged her love of plants by filling them with things she loves or wants to experiment with. Pansies bloomed exuberantly--in August. An apple tree in the back yard hung full of large and beautiful green apples. The vegetable garden contains raised beds--the best way to make productive soil out of what is mostly decomposed granite underfoot. Deer and wild turkeys have done serious damage to the garden, and a fence is planned.

Amid all the busyness of getting ready for the wedding, and the necessity for Bob to get a lot of work done ahead of the wedding, we still had time for lots of good conversation with Bob and Kathy. On Sunday afternoon and evening, after the hullabaloo died down, we took a long drive with them, and ate dinner in a quiet place with no children around. Kathy and I sat in the back seat and talked a mile a minute. She and I are kindred spirits, with many shared interests. Clarissa had told me that her mother is quiet by nature, but I did not find her the slightest bit withdrawn. I think she often just doesn't need to talk a lot because Bob carries the ball in conversations when they're together.

We heard a lot about the part of their journey that involved Mennonites, although I'm sure there was a lot that was left unsaid. We're aware of some of the hurdles that non-ethnic Mennonites (or NABs, as Clarissa calls them--Non-Anabaptist Background) face, but conversation with them uncovered a layer of hurdles we had almost forgotten existed.

It's more clear to me than before that integration works best when there is considerable congregational autonomy, rather than strict adherence to uniform standards across many congregations. I also can see clearly that what Paul Y. told me a year ago makes sense. He said that in situations where Mennonites are called on to help form a congregation among non-ethnic Mennonites, he believes that Mennonites must "force" the locals to forge a structure that they can call their own, even when it would be far easier to hand them a package deal to help them get started. At the same time, he is aware of the importance of standing ready to assist, and help people move toward maturity in Christ.

Bob had a heart for reaching out to the people among whom he lived, and believed that plugging into an organized church structure would help facilitate such outreach. He also admired the hardworking, self-sufficient, and service lifestyle he saw among the Mennonites. He didn't anticipate some of the barriers that such a structure might introduce. Helping with community emergency services and medical care didn't work out, and supporting homeschoolers didn't either. The emphasis on group schooling, avoiding higher education and close working relationships with non-Christians were all "Mennonite" ideas that ran counter to his vision. He couldn't figure out either how to guide his children into vocations that were right for them, given the prohibitions he was taught. He couldn't understand why a black vehicle was better than a white one, remembering as he did, from his days running a car dealership, that black vehicles were "luxury" models, almost always worth at least $2,000 more than an identical white vehicle.

Although it was comforting to reflect on the fact that most of the barriers Bob's family encountered would not have been issues in our church, we are aware that people of diverse backgrounds always face challenges when they decide to share in brotherhood. Humility calls us to be alert to what may be present in our setting that makes integration difficult for people who join us.

It was especially good to feel oneness with Bob and Kathy in being able to pray for these children of ours who now share a common path into the future.

The Place

2011-08-23T20:25:00.000-07:00

Eastern Washington was new territory for us. We arrived near midnight, so the surrounding mountains at first were only dim shadows against the starry sky, and the trees were visible mostly as points at the top of impossibly tall and straight trunks, with a shapeless mass between the top and the bare trunks.

In the daylight, the trees revealed slight variations on a green needled foliage theme. I was told there were firs, hemlocks, Bull pines, Pondarosa Pines, and Tamarack trees among the evergreens. Only a few broad-leaved trees were present--white-barked aspens and birch. I also saw one or two willows. Many broad-leaved trees thrived in home landscapes, even though they apparently aren't native to the area.

In cleared areas, we saw a lot of wheat, most of it uncut, and some of it still a bit green. Hay lay in thick windrows or in rectangular blocks where it had already been baled. South of Spokane, in the Palouse (a farmland region) where Bob and Kathy took us for a drive, and where Kathy's father used to farm, the sky and wheat were reminiscent of Kansas, except that the fields were much too wrinkled. I saw a combine laboring up one hill at a precarious angle, and my stomach tightened in sympathy for the driver of the combine.

Huckleberries, a local specialty, were past on the Prettyman property, but I'm told it was a good crop. This week they hope to head for higher elevations for more picking. The huckleberries weren't ready there earlier when they checked. Apparently they don't grow at all at lower elevations.

I saw Magpies and gray squirrels--neither of which are common here. Deer and wild turkeys are quite common, often posing a gardening challenge. Moose and bear also roam the woods, and coyotes are noisy at night.

The weather in Washington was "to die-for" pleasant. Bright dry warm still days in the 80's, and nights in the fifties or lower did wonders for restoring my heat/wind/drought-weary self. This kind of weather comes at a price for gardeners. Tomatoes weren't nearly ripe yet.

August is typically the driest month in Washington, and the trees along the gravel roads were covered by a layer of chalky dust. It was hard to think of it as being dry though because of all the green in the woods, and the bountiful crops in the fields.

Beautiful as the place was, the people we met were the most memorable feature of our trip. Telling about that will have to wait for another post.

A Western Wedding

2011-08-23T19:27:00.000-07:00

I know now how to do a wedding with a Western theme. Do it because you don't want people to end up with clothes and other stuff they can't use afterward. Besides, you want things to be simple and unfussy. Especially you want it to be easy to plan and pull off. This is how:

Don't invite too many people.

Have everyone in the wedding party wear cowboy boots, even the bride who is wearing a beautiful, satiny, beaded gown (exception to western theme made here). Make the ladies' boots pink and brown to match the decorating colors.

Have the groom wear a plaid shirt and blue jeans.

Tell the groomsmen and the ushers they are to wear white shirts and blue jeans. Boots are optional for the ushers. Wrangler-type jeans are not required, which is a good thing because at least one of the ushers refuses to wear them--as a matter of principle, decided upon in his high school days when baggy jeans were cool. (That was always OK by me.)

Put a pair of cowboy boots on either side of the church aisle at the back. Arrange bouquets in the boots by inserting wheat stalks, pink flowers, and reddish twigs. Surround them with tulle and stretch it all the way up the aisle, tying it to the chairs so that no one tries to sneak in that way to be seated.

At the round tables where people are to be seated during the reception, spread out a pink bandana in the middle of the table. Put a square mirror on top of it. In the middle of the mirror, set a quart jar with an inch or two of small stones. Scatter dried pink mini-roses on top of the gravel. Stab a whole bouquet of wheat stalks into the pebbles. Put more mini roses around the base of the jar on the mirror. At the corners of the mirror, arrange small groupings of white or pink almond bark or chocolate shapes. Prepare these ahead of time by melting and pouring these substances into molds with the shape of cowboy hats, boots, or paisleys.

Play western or country music over the sound system.

Serve real food at the reception. Include homemade dinner rolls with homemade frozen strawberry jam.

Use a cupcake tower instead of a wedding cake. Use chocolate cream cheese frosting in two shades of brown. Swirl it in ropey circles on top of each cupcake. Decorate the cupcakes with pink flowers and green leaves. The cupcakes themselves are pink, as you discover when you bite into them. Your friend who works in a bakery does the cupcakes.

The guest register table and the table at the front of the church can be decorated with floral arrangements. No boots are required. Use Scabiosa seed heads for the brown touches in the arrangements. They're stunning with pinks and whites. Do this because your sister who works for a florist insists that there must be flowers. She makes the arrangements.

Put pink sand in one clear vase and brown/black sand in another. Place them on the table at the front. Have the bride and groom pour sand into a larger clear vase at the same time, in such a way that it creates layers of color in the larger vase.

Only the bride changes clothes when the newly married couple takes off for the honeymoon. The groom adds a cowboy hat, and they're all set.

Picture This

2011-08-23T07:04:00.000-07:00

The Prettyman family (our new daughter-in-law's family) is taking their family pictures on the day of the wedding. Cousin Whitney is behind the camera. It's time to "cheese." So they cooperate and say "porta-potEEEEEEEEE." They're no doubt thinking fondly of the family business--Prettyman's Portables.

Relieved

2011-08-07T19:02:00.000-07:00

The relief in the air is tangible. We've had some rain, and there's moderate weather in the forecast. For the first time in a long time, our county is no longer is in the "Excessive Heat Warning" area. Within the next week we have one day of predicted highs in the 80's and lows in the 60's. Tonight a thunderstorm in the county west of us looks like it's headed for Reno County. I’m beginning to hear thunder.

I loved how my brother-in-law Marvin Mast celebrated the arrival of rain at 3:00 AM on Sat. He got dressed and sat in the glider on the front porch and watched it rain. I think I would have been a bit freaked out by the fireworks, but I know very well the feeling of being so pleased and so amazed that you don't want to miss any of the event.

We had a small shower on Wednesday evening. I heard Shane tell someone yesterday that he walked outside during church to see for himself if what he thought he heard was really what was happening. He couched the report in religious terms: “I thought my worship experience would be enhanced if it were really raining,” he said–or something like that.

Yesterday at Farmer’s Market, with the rain fresh on people’s minds, and slightly cooler temperatures, the festive market air was back, and early in the day people walked with their heads up and smiles on their faces. True, Roman’s tomatoes sold out in the first ten minutes after the market opened, and no one had green beans because of ongoing problems with pollination for both of those crops, but Shane grilled link sausage and ham steaks for samples, and the aroma wafted over the crowd, and set salivation in motion, judging by the purchases that followed.

The best part of the day was being able to listen to Shalom, the men’s quartet made up of three men from our church (Lyle Stutzman, Willard Mast, and John Miller), plus Eldo Miller. They sang for the crowd, and wowed a lot of the listeners. “That is the most amazing harmony,” someone said. “Do they sing in other churches?” Hearing truth in the words and exulting in the beauty of how it was presented was enough to make my day. Trust me, not all the market music is like this.

Mark Rasette, who lines up the entertainment, came by, and I said, “You’re here in time to hear them.” (He’d expressed regret earlier at not having heard them at “Nine Lessons and Carols.”)

“Yeah, but now I’ve gotta pay them,” he said. I didn’t know any of these people got paid. He gave them $200.00. Not bad. It will help them with expenses for the CD they’re producing this week and next–Word of Life church, with a live audience–on the next two Tuesday evenings.

Saturday night’s rain varied, within a seven mile area, from one inch to two tenths of an inch. We had a half inch. It was enough to make some of those big weeds in the drive near the house let loose of their root moorings with a good yank on the top. It hasn’t been moist enough for that to happen for a long time. Redroot Pigweed is a survivor, and I always looked at those embarrassing weeds with a mixture of loathing and respect. With some cooler temperatures I may even have the oomph to tackle the weeds in the border by the road. As one lady at market told me, the stuff farthest from the house gets the least attention. There’s only so much water and so much time, and neither one reaches around for everything.

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I heard several more “Woes with the Jobs Market” stories on Saturday. One woman told me her daughter got laid off three times in five months. When she applied at the local hospital recently for a job, she was one of 200 applicants. She didn’t get the job “and she’s college-educated,” Sandy told me.

Sheila told me about a friend of theirs, “Keith,” who got a piece of metal in his eye at work, which then got infected, and resulted in him needing a corneal transplant. He missed a lot of work, and his old employer wouldn’t hire him back because he had filed a workman’s compensation claim. He couldn’t find another job.

Meanwhile Sheila and her husband Dave had a serious talk about their own situation. Several years ago Dave got laid off after 30 years with the same company. The layoff circumstances seemed very unfair. He was essentially assigned blame for mistakes a long-gone previous employee had made. Dave found and reported the mistakes and set to work fixing them, but a lot of money in now worthless parts had already been invested. Because “somebody has to take responsibility” Dave got the axe.

After several months, their fortunes changed, and Dave got a better job than he had before. The good times were back. So they began to try to think how they could help other people who were less fortunate in their job situation. After considering making a large donation to local charities, they decided to focus their efforts on providing work for Keith. He had a grapple truck and other tools and skills to do salvage jobs. So they hired him to deal with all the old farm machinery on their place that had salvage value, and was no longer in use. A green dot of spray paint identified the salvage machinery. (“Our good baler was made in 1952. We wouldn’t want him to cut that up by mistake,” Sheila said.) Keith does all the work and gets the largest share of the salvage money. The good will, industriousness, and creativity in this situation is heartwarming.

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This was Grant’s last Sunday at home before he gets married. He leaves for Washington early next Sunday, and, when he comes back, it will be with his wife Clare, and they will move into their own home–in our property on Trail West road. Hiromi and I are this close to being empty nesters. Sigh.

The house remodeling/redecorating project took a big leap forward on Tuesday evening when members of my extended family helped with various jobs. The kitchen still needs the most work, but Myron B. has been working on the countertops, and the end is in sight.

We’ve harvested lots of beets and melons from Grant and Clare’s garden. A 34-pound watermelon and a basketball-sized cantaloupe were some of last week’s yield. The big cantaloupe was delicious–from a volunteer plant of unknown parentage.

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Craig and Rachel’s twin baby girls were in church today for the first time. They’re still very tiny, but doing well.

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Julia S. is scheduled for a biopsy tomorrow on a tumor discovered on her liver. This is a matter of concern and prayer for all of us.

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Uncle Edwin was in church today, brought by his daughter Valetta, who is here from Ohio. He has not attended since he became a resident at Mennonite Manor.

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We had a bonus communion service today, in addition to our regular spring and fall communion services. This was an effort to accommodate the schedule of members who are routinely absent, or will be absent this year, for the duration of the school year. A lot of people were missing–gone on trips.

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Dates for enrollment and work nights at school have been announced. School starts for the high school on August 26. The grade school starts the day before.

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Fresh Pesto sauce is one of the good gifts of summer. I mixed up a batch last week and we all enjoyed it with angel hair pasta tossed with a mixture of stir-fried chicken chunks, zucchini, and onion. We spread the sauce on top at the table. This is the recipe I used:
1 ½ cups basil leaves
1/4 cup Parmesan cheese
1/4 cup pine nuts (or sunflower seeds, which are a lot cheaper)
2 garlic cloves, grated or pressed or chopped finely
salt to taste
1/4 cup olive oil

Everything except the olive oil is chopped together in the food processor, and the olive oil is poured in while the processor is running. Refrigerate or freeze any unused portions.

This sauce is an almost-shocking green, and the flavor is distinctive–addictive, I think, but I don’t suppose my opinion is unanimous. I love Pesto sauce spread on toasted sturdy breads like French or Italian–or on pizza crust or bread sticks. Topped with a tomato slice . . . yum.

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My parents just returned from having been in Iowa for a reunion of people who were married there in 1950. There have been losses between each reunion, and now, in the year of their 61st anniversaries, the reunions are likely soon coming to an end. One of their number was buried on Monday of this past week.

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Jay and Verna (King) Miller are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary soon.

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I don’t think we got any measurable rain tonight, despite about an hour of blustering thunder and blinding lightening. Right now radar shows that the activity is mostly several counties north of here. I don’t think they needed the rain nearly as much as we did. They’ve had an over-abundance most of the summer. Oh well. . . . Later: Flood warnings were posted several counties north of here. We had only a trace of rain.

At market I heard someone quote a friend who said, “I used to pray that it would rain on my farm. Now I pray that it would rain on anyone’s farm.” That farmer is clearly in the same straits as many here have been.

Hutchinson was listed recently in the Exceptional Drought category, which is the most severe of the five categories. I doubt that much has changed with the recent rains, since we are so far below normal that it will take a lot of rain to catch up. But the trend is looking hopeful, and we’re very grateful.

Distressed

2011-08-02T08:16:00.000-07:00

I don't suppose it's normal to cry when you read the weather forecast. Maybe I should have stayed at Center to hear Julian's prayer on Sunday during share time right after he talked about the heat getting to him, and assuming it might be the same for others. Instead I went to Cedar Crest to hear Aaron Y. preach. He is a former student of mine, and I knew that listening to him would be a rare privilege, so I trundled around the section to our neighboring church--leaving and arriving during the share time. It was a very worthwhile sermon--on the Midsummer Times of Life--times of dryness and exhaustion and fruitlessness--and how to stay close to God during such times. The sermon felt hopeful, like finding an oasis in a desert. I think I need to hear the sermon again this morning.

The forecast for today says this: "Extreme heat will affect the region today with many locations hitting 110 degrees or higher. This is a very dangerous situation where heat related illnesses are likely, especially for folks that are outside for a prolonged period of time this afternoon." The predicted high is 112. Yesterday the prediction was 108 and the actual official high in Hutchinson was 110. Thermometers in our area, however, consistently register several degrees higher than Hutchinson, and yesterday was no exception. We've been told that today promises to have the highest temperatures of the season so far. The excessive heat warning we're under is in place till at least Thursday evening.

For the month of July, only the summer of 1980 had a higher average temperature: 90.4 to 89.3. 1954, 1934, and 1936 were the next hottest July's--in that order. The two months (1980 and 2011) were tied for the number of days over 100.

We're coping--just barely. One day without having to water would feel like a vacation, as would being able to look outside and see thriving vegetation, instead of vegetation in survival mode.

We noted on our way to and from church on Sunday that an irrigated corn field that looked good for the most part was topped in certain sections by a layer of leaves that looked whitish the first time I saw them several days earlier, and then looked tan-brown on Sunday. Other parts of the field didn't look like that. I suspect it had something to do with when the irrigation passed over the different areas. I don't know if it showed where it arrived too late, or if the water itself, combined with the heat, "cooked" the leaves.

I saw some of the same thing in our corn patch here at home. I also saw some of the first tassles looking puffy, dry, and dead. Tassles like that probably have no live pollen. Yesterday we set up the overhead sprinkler and turned it on over the corn patch, hoping to cool it down sufficiently to allow the pollen to stay alive long enough to do its job. We've been ditch watering the corn, which is an efficient way to deliver water to the roots, but it doesn't do much to cool the upper parts of the plant. With low humidity, the amount of water lost to irrigation by sprinkling seems wasteful, but evaporation is a cooling process, and when that's what we're after, we squeeze our eyes shut to the water wasting issue.

Right now the forecast for the week shows most of the icons with some chance for rain, with 20% being the highest number listed. Even though such predictions have hardly ever resulted in rain for us of late, it's better than seeing every icon either black or orange--for either nighttime or a hot daytime.

Please join us in prayer.

Climate Change Comments

2011-07-31T18:06:00.000-07:00

This is a followup to Hans' comment in an earlier post. I started to write this in a "comment" box after the post, and tired quickly of the space constraints, so I moved it here.

In connection with the "nothing to lose" comment [if we behaved as though climate change were real] , I thought of the financial loss aspect, and by extrapolation, the loss of other creature comforts and necessities, when I wrote that. I decided, however, not to add the qualifiers I was noting mentally, opting for brevity (I know--hard to believe.) rather than thoroughness. I quoted James, and said I agreed with him. While I might not have made the statement in exactly the same sweeping terms he used, I identified with an implicit conviction that the path of caution has much to recommend it.

In the conversation with James I had said, in effect, that I see environmental factors through the lens of an obligation to be good caretakers (stewards) of our earthly environment. When that commitment is firm, I believe that in our personal choices, financial losses can legitimately be incurred in the pursuit of discharging that obligation. It is a way of making an offering of obedience to the Lord. I think some of the farmers I know do that as a matter of principle.

I admit to having a visceral feeling of disgust with what I hear from the American industry side of the environmental debate. I think the underlying motivation for resisting environmental controls is almost always profit driven--what the Bible calls "the love of money" and which is identified as "the root of all evil." I think James identifies in industry the same underlying motive I see, and is mentally juxtaposing love for money and love for people, and feels that when a minister seems to tilt toward the "love of money" side, it's especially galling. I know you would say that the choices are not that clear cut, and I agree.

I followed the links you posted, and the next comments were written after I read them.

I’m not interested in doing the necessary research to establish the national and international scope of environmental problems. Neither am I interested in aligning myself with a specific political position in relation to environmental regulations. I won't attempt to support or refute what I think is your basic premise--that being against government environmental regulations is not equivalent to being unloving toward people. I do nevertheless feel like challenging some of the strong statements you're making--not because I'm taking offense, or because I think it's totally untrue, but because I think some of it is unclear and there could be benefit from expanding the view a bit in some areas. The whole debate does not turn on one factor; for example, whether or not placing regulatory limits on industry causes more suffering for poor people than leaving industry to its own devices--although I agree that considering this issue is valid.

You say "If there is global warming, people can always find high ground--it's not as if it will move with tsunami-speed. However, a creeping global food shortage because of high expenses because it costs so much more to produce is actual tangible, projected suffering." Are you saying that people can adjust to global warming because they have more time, but they can't adjust to food shortages that will happen right away? I tend to think the food shortages would happen slowly too, if they were a trickle-down effect of a slow-down in industrial output. The swift results would happen in the coffers of industry giants. What is the "high ground" that people will be able to find in the event of climate change?--high moral ground? less harsh environments in which to live and grow food? How does producing food cost so much more with government control of industry pollution? I don't think government limitations on fossil fuel for agriculture is being proposed. That's where it would seem to me be a possible limiting factor on food production--less so in industry controls. Making the “leap” from government environmental controls on industry to assured food shortages could be challenged, I believe.

I have heard statistics and stories from reputable organizations about how factory emissions and effluents sicken many poor people who live downstream or downwind from the factories, or who work in them without adequate protection. On the basis of this information, I think a case could be made about lack of carefulness with environmental pollution disproportionately affecting the poor also. These people need jobs, even if the jobs sicken them; they need a place to live, and don't have the resources to move away or fight back against the deplorable conditions they live in. With or without government controls the poor are disproportionately affected by industrial pollution.

I’m as dismayed by the prayer to the Mayan goddess as you are. It happened in a U.N. meeting in Mexico, and the person offering the prayer had a clearly Hispanic name. I assume she was from Mexico, and the goddess she addressed is one of the gods and goddesses still worshiped in that part of the world. I acknowledge also that a lot of religious garbage is associated with the environmental movement. When this happens, I think often the earth is regarded as part of God Himself–not a created entity, apart from God, and lovingly fashioned and watched over by God, as I believe it is.

In the one source you referenced, most of the rhetoric and research focuses on the disaster of enacting governmental controls on the use of fossil fuels. Free market forces are seen as a better source of control than government controls. Frankly, I don’t have a vision for going to bat for either of those causes. While free markets are often lifted up as the righteous alternative to unholy government meddling, I see a lot of residual Social Darwinism in unbridled enthusiasm for free markets. I don’t like government meddling either, but I recognize the need for restraint from some source, without which the powerful (right or wrong, selfish or benevolent) would always have their way while the weak would bow to their will. The answer is neither in free markets or in governmental controls, of course, but in the changed lives of people who live by Godly principles.

Fossil fuels are a monster in the climate change discussion. If we could instantly stop using fossil fuels, everyone in the current debate could shut up and go home. Other kinds of pollution present health hazards, but no one is suggesting that they cause climate change. We can’t move away from fossil fuel use instantly, of course, or render them innocuous, but I see moving away from fossil fuel energy use as a good thing overall, unless it can be made far cleaner than it is now.

The fact that fossil fuels pollute is undeniable, and I'm as concerned about their health effects as about their possible climate change effects. When people talk about cap and trade laws, for example, I see such laws as being good on the side of moving toward less fossil fuel use, or cleaner use, but I’m not prepared to defend cap and trade laws as being good and right–for some of the reasons the article you cited suggests. It’s a messy business with few easy answers.

I'm encouraged when I remember that I'm not responsible for deciding what is right for everyone in every place and time. I can start with the principles I find in Scripture, and God will give me wisdom to know how to apply them in the situations that are part of my life.

Painting

2011-07-27T15:06:00.000-07:00

I bought a can of primer today to apply to the exterior of the front door at the Trail West house. The instructions say that the paint should be applied when the temperature is between 50 and 90 degrees. During the night tonight, between 12:00 midnight and 1:00 A.M., the mercury should plunge to those depths, according to the NOAA forecast.

The official temperature in Hutchinson this afternoon went to 112 degrees. My sister Lois, who lives near our place, says their thermometer registered 113.6. We have only 16% humidity, but it's still hot enough out there to singe your eyeballs.

A cold front is to sink south across Kansas tomorrow, and we have a chance of staying below 100 for one day. Then it's back to the 2011 summer normal.

Mara, the Beggar

2011-07-27T05:16:00.000-07:00

Mara, our old ewe, is really good at applying many layers of guilt when she thinks it's breakfast or supper time, and she spies someone outside who is not bringing her food. For this reason, Hiromi always braces himself to resist her reminders when he goes for the paper before doing his morning outdoor chores.

This morning he came in laughing. "She adjusted her volume," he told me. The closer he got to the porch on his way back from the newspaper box, the louder and more insistent her deep bass baaaaaaas became. Hiromi stood strong, however, and Mara will wait for her breakfast till Hiromi finishes with his.

Moustache Trivia

2011-07-26T15:05:00.000-07:00

"Moustaches are associated with the military." If you're Amish you already know that.

Five years ago, in May 2006, I got curious enough to test this hypothesis through research. Here are some excerpts from the findings I wrote down:

From what I can learn of mustaches and their association with military officers, the association was probably at its height in the 16th century in Europe. Beards were not worn then because they too easily became a handle with which to hold the head of an enemy when a soldier was attacking with a sword. Records exist of Anabaptists being adamantly opposed to the wearing of mustaches at that time.

In this country, beards and mustaches were both popular in the military around the time of the Civil War. By that time, guns had replaced swords, and beards were no longer the safety hazard they had been earlier. Beards and mustaches were also common among non-military men of the time.

Fashions had changed by the wartimes of the next century (1900's) and beards were abandoned in the military, for the most part. Mustaches may have been worn by some in the American military at mid-century, but a picture of the major generals of WW II reveals none of them having a mustache. Although the enclosed photo [not available here] is not too clear, individual pictures of the generals taken during that era show them with no facial hair. Generals Eisenhower and MacArthur were probably the best known generals, and they were both clean-shaven. Subsequently, the presence of any hair came to be viewed as a lice hazard, and new recruits were summarily shaved completely.

The above findings lead me to believe that in order to have a personal memory of mustaches being associated with the American military in any way at all, one would need to be well over 60 years old now. I personally suspect that the 16th century abhorrence of mustaches is the “memory” that has been passed down repeatedly, and is still fresh today among some–not as a recollection through experience, but as a memory of having been told it.

Caught

2011-07-26T13:02:00.000-07:00

This afternoon when I went out to start the water in the west garden, I found two Northern Orioles flying around in a panic inside the bird netting Hiromi draped over 36 of the tomato plants and their cages. I stalked them grimly, and they fled to one corner of the netted area. One of them disappeared before I reached them, but the other one was held fast, tangled in the fabric at ground level. So I caught him, and lectured him emphatically, and rapped him on the beak, then threw him in the air. His wings caught the air, and he sailed to the top of the Elm south of the garden. I sincerely hope his little bird brain is busily sending notes to himself: Do not repeat this action. Stay away from the bird netting. Stay away from the garden. Be very afraid of being caught by the lady in the pointy Vietnamese grass hat. I hope no, no, no keeps ringing in his ears for a long time.

Rain at Nap Time

2011-07-24T21:22:00.000-07:00

Right after our Sunday dinner, it started raining--serious rain that obscured the Harvestore silo a half mile away--that ran down the window panes and made everything outside look blurry and wavy--that roared on the metal garage roof outside our bedroom window--that smelled like rain, and announced its approach with thunder. Praise be to God.

I watched it for a bit, then went to take the nap I was anticipating, because, as everyone knows, going to sleep with the sound of rain is a beautiful thing--unless you're already getting too much rain, I suppose. I couldn't sleep right away though. I was afraid I'd miss out on the rain. It came to a grand total of .25 inch--clearly not a drought breaker, but a source of relief just the same--allowing the leaves in the milo field across the road to uncurl at least briefly, and washing down the pollens and dust that have been circulating exuberantly all summer.

Joel and Hilda, who live three miles away, got no rain when we did. Tonight they got rain that missed us. Capriciousness is apparently the name of this rain game.

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Twila and I talked after church about the winds we've had this summer. They've been a blessing for the most part, we agreed. We've had mostly ideal wind speeds at 10-15 miles per hour--enough to provide some circulation at night and evaporate some perspiration during the day, but not scorching, driving winds that withered and wasted everything in their path. Even setting up and running sprinklers is less frustrating when the winds are cooperative.

I've noticed too that many of the winds are from the southeast rather than the southwest, which is more typical. It's a blessing for us since southeast winds send every bit of PS wafting out over the fields of this farm rather than toward the house and gardens. The only disconcerting part of this pattern is that usually SE winds indicate approaching moisture, but this summer that hasn't materialized as rainfall on our farm.

Tomorrow's predicted temperature is only 99 degrees. If the reality matches the billing, it will be the only day below 100 degrees in a multi-week stretch.

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On chorus tour, Shane heard from someone in an eastern state that "It's getting pretty dry here. We haven't had rain for about a week and a half."

Shane resisted the urge to say Let me tell you something about dry . . .

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Tomorrow is our 30th wedding anniversary. It's been a short 30 years, but long enough to go from newly-wed to empty nest (almost--by Aug. 20, when Grant gets married).

Hiromi is busily gathering information and making a plan to go to a Japanese restaurant in Wichita tomorrow evening. Sushi, tempura, or hibachi-style steak? It's a tough decision, and I'm proud of him for tackling it. I love this kind of food as much as he does, and I'm really happy about the chance to celebrate together. The drive down there and back is part of the anticipated together time.

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Thinking about all this wonderful food reminds me that this is the best time of year to make tempura at home too, so maybe we'll eat chef-prepared sushi and hibachi steak in Wichita and gear up to do our own tempura at home. That would be a fun thing to do for our next Iwashige family meal. Tempura is basically batter-dipped, deep fried vegetables which are then dipped in a flavorful "soup" and eaten with rice. We like to do green beans, zucchini and other summer squash, onions, peppers, eggplant, sweet potato, and corn (cut off the cob and clumped with batter). Chicken or shrimp are our favorite tempura meats. The batter is very light, and makes a crackly thin fried coating.

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Shane and I manned our market stand yesterday. It was a good market crowd, but, as has been the case the past several weeks, the heat seems to have the effect of people sort of keeping their head down, and grimly fixing their attention on finding the things they have on their mental list, and then bolting for home as quickly as possible. That's not a good environment for selling lots of product if you're offering a "luxury" item or a food item relatively new to the market--like meat and flowers.

Jared S., Arlyn M., and Andrew M. provided the music, and did a great job. Each of them did some singing and they all played an instrument--keyboard, bass, and guitar.

One lady used $3.00 of her Senior Farmer's Market Nutrition Program money to buy chard. She was apparently used to eating greens, and was delighted to find this food offered.

No one gets more than $30.00 in ten coupons of $3.00 each. The money can only be used for fruits, vegetables, and honey, and vendors who sell those things and are registered with the program can take the coupons and cash them at any bank, but not give back any change to the customer. Since the chard purchaser got all our remaining chard and it was worth only $2.57, I gave her a bunch of free flowers to compensate. "Keep the change," she had said, but giving her flowers made us both happy.

This program is funded through the Department of Agriculture, and has been available at our market for three years or so. I think it's a good use of government food assistance money. In our area, the coupons are mostly distributed through the Department of Aging.

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Our baby guinea numbers dropped from nine to three by their second day. It's probably best that I don't know what creature to blame for eating them. If it was a dog or cat, I don't want to know about it, and if it was a wild animal, I don't want to kill it anyway.

I am harboring some disappointment with the adult guineas for not being more attentive. I really think they probably do OK most of the time, but the other night when we were working in the corn patch, the whole guinea family joined us, and then the adults crossed the fence and browsed through the veggie garden, leaving their chicks stranded alone in the middle of the corn patch. The dogs were there too--not a great combination. The adults seemed to remember their duties eventually and tardily returned to the corn patch to collect the family.

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Shane stopped in on Tuesday to take the dogs home after their stay here while Shane and Dorcas were on chorus tour. He couldn't bear it though--taking them home to while away their time in a small kennel in this brutal weather. So he asked if they could stay here until it cools down some more. We're fine with their seeking out shade wherever they can find it, and rolling in the grass where we've watered, or hiding under the porch.

Brandi, who is the more rambunctious of the two, had started out at Joseph's place, but her barking at night prompted Joseph several times too many to take his gun out to shoot whatever predator she had cornered--only there was no predator there. Joseph's dog's barking is apparently strictly reserved for the necessities, and Joseph knows that when he barks, there's an invader present.

While Brandi was there, Joseph's dog, George, looked on with great embarrassment every time Joseph showed up with a gun in response to Brandi's barking. Silly female.

I keep wanting to call Joseph's dog Charles, but that would be disastrous. That's their toddler--not their dog. I think my ADD brain is conflating those English Monarch names--Charles and George--and has trouble sorting them out properly.

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Joel and Hilda had the singing tonight for the young people. Hosting a crowd of 30-40 people for these gatherings is more challenging when the weather doesn't invite overflowing into the outdoors at mealtime and for socializing. The singing always goes better inside though.

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Today in church, during sharetime, Vera suggested we sing "All the Way My Savior Leads Me" in connection with our need for rain. It was an interesting lens through which to view the words of this song:

All the way my Savior leads me
What have I to ask beside?
Can I doubt His tender mercy,
Who through life has been my Guide?
Heav'nly peace, divinest comfort,
Here by faith in Him to dwell!
For I know, whate'er befall me,
Jesus doeth all things well;
For I know, whate'er befall me,
Jesus doeth all things well.

All the way my Savior leads me
Cheers each winding path I tread,
Gives me grace for every trial,
Feeds me with the living Bread.
Though my weary steps may falter
And my soul athirst may be,
Gushing from the Rock before me,
Lo! A spring of joy I see;
Lyrics www.allthelyrics.com/lyrics/gospel/
Gushing from the Rock before me,
Lo! A spring of joy I see.

All the way my Savior leads me
O the fullness of His love!
Perfect rest to me is promised
In my Father's house above.
When my spirit, clothed immortal,
Wings its flight to realms of day
This my song through endless ages:
Jesus led me all the way;
This my song through endless ages:
Jesus led me all the way.

Bearing Others' Burdens

2011-07-23T21:30:00.001-07:00

In a conversation with my neighbor Jamie I confessed an unholy reaction I had a day or two ago when I read a Facebook prayer request from a stranger in western Oregon. The post asked people to pray for sunshine and warm, dry weather. My reaction: Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to begin to think of praying for that? We're sweltering here in an overabundance of sunshine and warm, dry weather. To pray for more of it seems absurd.

Jamie knew exactly what I meant. He told me a closer-to-home story about a phone conversation he and his wife had with their son Jesse who lives in northeastern Kansas. On his days off Jesse does lawn mowing and other yard work, except that when it rains, he can't do those things. He summed up his feelings about this by saying, "I'm so tired of all this rain."

"Jesse, don't even think of saying such a thing," his mother told him, the sight of browning vegetation everywhere outside her windows no doubt prompting that reaction. I know exactly what she meant.

I heard another person say today what I have often thought recently, "It's really depressing to drive down the road and see what's happening." It hurts even more when you know the people who own and work the fields along the road. You know these people are already working hard and spending carefully to make their farming venture profitable, and that is not nearly always enough. Most farmers depend on some other income source to survive. How is it that these right ways of living aren't enough? I guess that's how if often is for people in many parts of the world--hard work and careful spending don't insure having enough. This reality can feel overwhelming, as if the whole world's burdens weighed us down.

My own reaction to the desperate Facebook poster from Oregon was probably exactly like the reaction of many people who have heard about our need for rain and cooler weather--when they themselves are wishing for warmer, sunnier, drier weather: Can you imagine how hard it is for me to begin to think of praying for that?

"Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ," the Scripture says. I've never before doubted that wisdom, and I don't doubt it now. I do wonder, though, exactly how you go about doing it, especially when your own desperation so completely clogs your feelings and depletes your resources that reaching out to help another feels like one empty hand stretching toward another's empty hand. I'm not quite sure either whether bearing another's burdens has more to do with feeling or doing.

Perhaps there is something to be learned from the "empty hand" imagery. Jamie said, "Not that talking about it really changes anything . . . " when he was explaining to me what he and Hiromi had been discussing.

"Talking about it helps us commiserate," I answered, "and sometimes that helps--knowing we're not the only ones suffering." Maybe the reason that's a good thing is because helpless people in company with other helpless people are forced to look away from themselves for aid available elsewhere. When they look to God, it may even help them see possibilities among their own resources that they've missed before.

After my thoughts had already churned along for some time on the "burden bearing" theme, I read a blog post written by my friend Dorcas, who lives in western Oregon. Hearing about what excessive rain and cloudy weather means for their grass seed business and for farmers in their area helped me put a face on that Facebook information, and I can now commiserate with the Oregon residents' desperation almost as well as my neighbors'. Even before this I remembered that praying for someone else does not first require feeling all that they're feeling when they have a need for help.

For me, the take-away lessons are these: 1) Pray for those who suffer, even if you can't feel what they're feeling. 2) Don't stay isolated when you're suffering. 3) Focus on God when you're suffering. 4) Don't take on the whole world's burdens; ask God to help you see what is within your capability to influence or change, and ask Him to turn your thoughts away from the rest.

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Today I finally had the opportunity to tell my professor friend James that I liked his recent "Western Front" article (the readers write section of our local newspaper). It was a response to an earlier column by a local pastor on climate change.

James said in his article that he thought that even if climate change turned out not to be an ongoing phenomenon caused by human activity, we have nothing to lose by behaving as if it were exactly as some fear it is--that we are on a course creating huge changes in our climate patterns. I agree with him about having nothing to lose by behaving cautiously in environmental matters. James was further distressed by the fact that the original writer is a minister who "doesn't care about people"--in James' words.

I said I thought that the matter of stewardship should help guide our thinking about the environment. "We're caretakers of what God has given us. We need to figure out what that means, and do it." I can't imagine that it means poisoning what's here, knowing that it will harm people. I also commented on the many weather extremes we're witnessing this year, and wondered aloud what significance this has.

"That is a predicted effect of climate change--greater extremes," James said. We also discussed a matter in the local news, of late.

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The Sunflower Electric company is going through the permitting process in preparation for building a power plant in western Kansas that will emit into the atmosphere 12 million tons of particulate matter per year. While some people oppose this on the basis of its climate change potential, I think it's quite enough reason to oppose it because of what those particulates will do to the air we breathe, and to our bodies after we've breathed it. It's a health issue--not only a climate issue. 3.9 billion gallons of water per year will also be used in the process of generating this electricity. The Ogallala Aquifer, which will supply this water, is already being depleted far faster than it's being replenished. This is an issue directly related to sustaining agriculture and human populations in those areas--another good enough reason to oppose Sunflower's plans--beyond what it might mean for the climate.

The power generated by Sunflower will mostly be sent to Colorado, which is ironic, since the coal used to generate the electricity will come from Colorado initially. I say if it's going to be Colorado coal and Colorado power, let's let it also be 3.9 billion gallons of Colorado water and 12 million tons per year of Colorado pollution--a package deal that stays outside of Kansas.

The Sierra Club is vigorously opposing the current plans by filing lawsuits. Under an earlier Democratic state governor, permits for construction were denied. When the governor joined Obama's cabinet as Secretary of Health and Human Services, her replacement took a more generous stance toward the power company. A permit was granted for construction--strategically at the very end of 2010, which insured that more stringent environmental regulations scheduled to take effect on January 1, 2011 would not apply. I seriously doubt that this was coincidental.

Media research uncovered the fact that, in the public comment period that was ostensibly a government effort to gather input from the public and answer questions, Sunflower actually supplied some information and answers to their liking and the government passed it off as the result of their own investigation. This smells rotten to me.

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Ultimately, what happens with Sunflower, and in Oregon and in Kansas weather is beyond my control. I can pray about these things, and then perhaps God will turn my thoughts elsewhere--back to everyday matters of taking care of what I am responsible for--to matters of stewardship, which I pray may include for all of us--care for everything in our "world" that God cares about.

Watering Corn and Pigs

2011-07-18T20:27:00.000-07:00

Do you have any idea how to turn quarrelsome pig squeals into contented grunts on a triple digit day?

Today I finished watering the corn and piled the hose length near the hydrant just outside the hog pen when I got an inspiration. Before I turned off the hydrant, I set the cut-off valve at the end of the hose so that it produced a coarse spray instead of a single jet. I aimed at the pile of hogs trying to cool off around the waterer. The pile disentangled itself and each pig stood still, absorbing the moisture, and grunting softly. Then they came over to the fence near me, and snuffled some more. Others came streaming out of the building to get in on the action outside. I squirted them too. Their temperament improved by the second. I didn't overdo the watering, for fear of turning their fluffy, dry bedding into mucky, smelly stuff--just enough to dissolve the irritability into affability. I left them feeding contentedly and moving about normally.

It was a small moment of pleasure for both them and me.

Heat Records Since 1889

2011-07-16T20:31:00.000-07:00

It's probably not a good sign when you're waiting for things to cool off so you can stand working outside again, and you know the cool down has begun when you find out that the temperature has gone down to 103.

The formidable heat continues unabated, and the forecast calls for more of the same through all of next week--overnight lows around 80 and daytime highs 105-107, with no rain. Lest you think that this is business as usual in Kansas, here is a quote from the National Weather Service:

Summer 2011 Proving to be One of the Hottest on Record (So Far...)

Below normal rainfall in concert with periodically strong and stagnant upper level high pressure systems has resulted in sweltering summer heat across much of Mid-America. After recording one of the hottest June's on record, Wichita is poised to record one of the hottest July's on record as well. The average high temperature from June 1st through July 15th at the Air Capital was 96.5 degrees, ranking 2nd warmest since 1889 behind only 1980, when the average June 1st through July 15th high temperature was 97.1 degrees.

The number of days this year where the mercury reached at least 100 degrees at Wichita is also staggering, with 22 such days recorded through July 16th. This ranks 2nd since 1889 behind only 1980, when 23 days of 100 degrees or higher where recorded through July 16th. (End of quote)

Comparing this year's record to the record for each of the past 122 years helps put things into perspective, and it's not reassuring.

If you're one of the people who is convinced that global warming is a figment of some blowhard's runaway imagination, I don't recommend that you broadcast it in these parts at the moment.

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Today at market, almost every conversation of any length touched on the heat.

Earl said he nearly lost consciousness on his way home with a load of peaches he had helped harvest in oppressive heat--in Missouri, I think. His eyes weren't focusing anymore. When he was within about 30 miles from home, he pulled off on a side road and asked his young grandson if he could get them both home. "He didn't have a driver's license, but I know one thing. He got us home, and we wouldn't have gotten home if I had driven. I don't even remember getting there. Pam took him home, and after she got back I helped unload the peaches."

I think Earl was suffering from heat exhaustion. No comment on his decision to let his grandson drive, except that I can understand his desperation.

Norma, who is Amish, talked about how everything you touch is hot. There's a breeze at night, but 90 degrees still feels hot. By morning, when it's coolest, the breeze has died down. With no electricity, no cool air can be drawn through the house, and the whole structure retains a lot of heat from one day to the next. She gets up at 3:30 to do her baking for farmer's market so she can turn off the oven before the day gets too hot.

When Hiromi and I were setting up our stall at market this morning, I muttered to him, "What I really feel like doing right now is turning around and going home."

"Me too," he said. But of course we didn't. We stayed and suffered along with everyone else.

"I haven't worn shorts since I was seven years old," Hiromi told me later, "but I'm thinking about it now."

"Don't," I said. "It's not a good Amish thing to do."

Dale C. looked at our chard leaves and said they'd be perfect for putting on top of a person's head under a hat, to help keep a person cool. That is apparently an old-fashioned trick he was familiar with. I wasn't.

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The other day Lizzie told me she always wears a hat outdoors, and she thinks it would help me stay cool when I have to work outside. I tried hers on when she offered it to me, and it felt right--to my surprise. I don't wear sun protection of any sort, and I probably should. Maybe there's a hat in my future. In the meantime, my suntan will have to suffice to protect me from sunburn.

*************************

The guineas hatched today. Nine keets are following behind one parent and walking ahead of the other. I admire their dutiful parental attentions. I don't think we'll have to worry about the babies getting a chill from being led through wet vegetation--one of the threats to the survival of these tiny fuzzy babies.

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I've noticed that our sheep do not seem to like Lamb's Quarter. Today I mentioned that in a conversation with Sheila, who has sheep. "I don't know of anything that really likes Lamb's Quarter," she said. "It'll kill rabbits. We found that out the hard way."

"I like Lamb's Quarter," I said. We used to eat the tender young plants cooked like spinach.

"I do too," she answered. "We eat it like a wilted lettuce salad."

Sheila said sheep love Pigweed, and she's going to ask her neighbor if she can fence his wheat stubble ground which is growing a "bodacious" crop of Pigweed. That'll stretch her pasture a bit. Instead of the usual 350 or so hay bales she's accumulated by now from her land, she has 85.

***********************

Brandi arrived here on Friday to join Lexi. The dogs seemed happy to be together again. Shane surmises that people at Joseph's house got tired of Brandi, so he brought her over. That's OK. We like her. She's more feisty than Lexi, and acts a little more like an adolescent--regularly doing goofy things like snapping at the stream of water coming from the end of a garden hose.

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On Wednesday evening when we had a special service to pray for rain, a number of people spoke about what has become meaningful to them in relation to the drought and heat. Irene quoted from Isaiah 58:11, which was the verse for the day in her devotional reading: "And the Lord shall guide thee continually, and satisfy they soul in drought, and make fat thy bones; and thou shalt be like a watered garden, and like a spring of water, whose waters fail not." The idea of having a satisfied soul in a time of drought was meaningful to her.

Someone else quoted the words of a song taken from Scripture in Habakkuk 3:17-19: Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: Yet, I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation. The Lord God is my strength, and he will make my feet like hinds' feet, and he will make me to walk upon mine high places. . . .

I'm thankful for cold clean drinking water, and good wells for watering plants and keeping animals alive--even for helping them cool off--which I assume is what is keeping the pigs quieter after someone from Oren's household comes over outside of regular chore time to tend to their comfort.

Farmyard Detente

2011-07-14T09:02:00.000-07:00

Poor Lexi got two comeuppances this morning--one from the Mama cat, and one from the Papa Guinea. They both came after her, weapons at the ready, and she wisely turned tail and ran. I felt a little sorry for her since she wasn't really acting very threatening, but detente is a good situation when it concerns residents of a farmyard.

Come to think of it, Hiromi yelled at her too--when she ran toward the garden where Hiromi had just spotted a skunk. Lexi obediently cleared out and gave Hiromi a chance to retrieve his shotgun and dispatch the skunk.

When Hiromi was ready to leave for work, we had to disturb her again. The cool, breezy resting spot under his car wasn't a safe place anymore, but she was reluctant to leave it. She came when I called her though. Hiromi wasn't all the way out the drive before Lexi shifted over to the closest available vehicle and crawled under the minivan. That low-to-the-ground Welsh Corgi profile has its benefits.

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The NOAA daily weather prediction icons look like a Halloween display. All the days are orange, with the word "hot" as a caption, and all the nights are black, with captions ranging from "partly cloudy" to "mostly clear". That rain we're praying for isn't registering in the forecast so far, although there was some thunderstorm activity north of us last night. Every day through at least next Wednesday is predicted to be over 100.

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For the first time this summer, Hiromi and I have gotten a good handle on our weeding. While not quite every weed is eradicated, most of them are gone, and most of our garden areas are mulched. We've done part of it in miserably hot weather, and part of it early in the morning before Hiromi had to leave for work.

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We miss Bill at Fairview, but Steve took good care of us this week when both our vehicles needed attention--for a price, of course. Being able to use Shane's car while they're on chorus tour really helped us make things work while the vehicles were at Fairview.

"My favorite car," Hiromi said when he was ready to leave this morning and got into his 1984 Chevy Caprice with the buggered-up right front corner and the flapping-in-the-breeze shredded interior roof lining. I can't think of anyone else that would speak so tenderly about this car, but we already know that Hiromi's tolerance level in this matter is phenomenal.

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We've ordered all the flooring for the Trail West house, and the carpeting is installed in the one bedroom we decided to carpet. The dining room and living room already have a hardwood floor. All the other rooms are getting various types of floating floors that are relatively easy to install ourselves.

The cork and the strand bamboo were purchased online from Cali Bamboo, after we did a lot of reading and some investigation of local options. Even with pricey shipping, we could still get it cheaper online, and felt confident that we were getting good quality. None of the local shops seemed to have any special knowledge of or experience with either one, and we decided we didn't need their help with this. The cork comes in click-together planks and the bamboo comes in click-together boards--which I think we will bind together with a bead of glue.

I'm still a little surprised at what we decided on for the kitchen--a tile-look laminate. The guy at Thomas Flooring told me that is the product with the best price point. In other words, the quality for the price is the best he has to offer. It comes in click-together planks about 15 x 50 inches. He laid to rest my main reservation by saying about the danger of water damage, "I wouldn't spill water on it and go off and leave it, but I'm really sloppy with how I mop this floor [pointing to a display section in his store] and I've never had a problem with water infiltration."

All the glue-down stuff would have called for a pricey underlayment--more money than for the vinyl itself, and the sheet vinyl would have been trickier to install ourselves. The dimensions of the kitchen would have necessitated seams or a huge amount of waste if we had gone with sheet vinyl. I had always pictured wood-grain patterns in laminate, and realized when I saw the tile pattern that there were more options than I knew about. For this choice, I needed expert advice, and felt good about giving business to the private shop on Main Street in Hutchinson.

Wolcott's on 4th was a good choice for our carpeting. They had a good quality remnant piece in a neutral color for a good price, and they got it installed promptly.

I suppose our many different types of flooring choices would give some installers and decorators nightmares, but I think we'll like all of them. All of them open into the living or dining room, and all of them will look OK with an oak hardwood floor, with either neutral coloring in manmade materials, or made of neutrally colored natural materials. The varying purposes for each of the side rooms will be very nicely accommodated by what we chose--bamboo, which, when strand-manufactured is harder than oak, for the study, where no one ever gets down on the floor. Cork for the middle room, which might become the spare bedroom/exercise room, where both firmness and softness come together nicely in sound and shock absorbing cork, and nylon carpeting, for a cozy master bedroom. All the non-carpeted areas are allergy-friendly, and the one carpeted area is at least two rooms away from all the regularly used outdoor entrances--thus less likely to get outside dirt tracked in.

Plus the two private flooring shops--Wolcott's and Thomas Flooring--we patronized Star Lumber for our kitchen counter laminate, Lowes for the patio doors, and Home Depot for paint and lots of odds and ends, so we feel like we've done our bit to invest locally and economically, even with some of our product being shipped in. Matt K. and Myron B. are two local craftsmen/handymen who will help with some of the work. We probably didn't get bottom dollar on everything, but we got help where we needed it, and got fair deals all around.

Random Rants

2011-07-13T10:21:00.000-07:00

I recently read an article from an Indian newspaper about homeschooling. In the article, three families enumerated their reasons for homeschooling. The reasons all were related in some way to the title of the article: "School is an Artificial Social Environment"--Hindustan Times. This seems to me to be a self-evident truth, and I'm always surprised when people feel obligated to debate it.

The social environment classroom schools most closely resemble is the industrial model--if that can be considered a social environment at all. A mechanical environment might describe it more accurately. John Taylor Gatto, who is a highly acclaimed American former public school teacher, traces our American educational roots to the efficient systems developed in Germany for the manufacturing industry. The most alarming part of this insight is that a key component of making such a system work is to churn out people who do what they're told without questioning, and who learn not to resist mindless, repetitive tasks. Both industry and education work best when this happens.

It's true, of course, that many, many teachers do not idealize the industrial model of education. They do their best to awaken minds and encourage passion and inquiry. But whenever they do so, they ramp up the inconvenience factor of classroom instruction exponentially. The bottom line is that traditional classroom instruction is simply not an environment in which these things can happen easily.

Outside of school, people almost always work with others in some non-academic capacity (sometimes in addition to academic pursuits), they work with people of varying ages and levels of competence and disability, they are free to come and go as needed--no captive audience, in most cases. People gravitate to and delve deeply into developing their natural interests and abilities. Learning in "brick and mortar" classrooms, with only other close-in-age people, on academic subjects only, as part of a captive audience, with everyone following the same educational track--the antithesis of a typical social environment outside of school.

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Some things in life simply defy efficiency. Taking care of children, the frail elderly, people with mental deficiencies, and the infirm are examples. In fact, I think looking out for almost any living thing can fall into this category. Routines can help, but they will never cover all the bases. Yet the need to carry out these caregiving tasks is compelling. Jesus says we're doing for Him whatever we do for "the least of these."

Efficiency can become a limiting value when people become so focused on efficiency that they sometimes seem blinded to caregiving necessities--or at least unwilling to consider an inefficient option to accomplish a greater good.

Examples:

If we plant grass there, we'll have to water and mow it. So, year after year, the yard transitions between dust and mud, depending on how much or little rainfall there is.

Don't plant anything in the garden that grows on a vine. It's too hard to keep the weeds out. So some of the best treats of summer have to be purchased at a dear price or they can't be enjoyed at all.

In big church gatherings followed by a meal, if we dismiss everyone at once, people will take too much time to visit, and serving lunch will take too long. So everyone is whisked from their seat to the lunch line, and there is no time to connect with people you hoped to touch base with.

When we lived at the Trail West house, our kitchen was a galley style walk-through room. At the end of one row of counters we had a small table where the family often ate. The end of the table butted up against the base counter along one wall, and the table was also backed up along one long side against the west kitchen wall. This easily allowed for only three people to sit at the table--along one exposed end and side. When our second child was born, we often had a high chair near the table, protruding very inconveniently into the kitchen walkway, but we never considered banishing the baby to another room to eat so that we could have our efficient kitchen back. Yet, in our public places, we are tempted sometimes to do similar things. The old people can't navigate the stairs to the basement for carry-in meals? Let them eat upstairs. The Sunday School class meeting place is not convenient for people with mobility issues? They'll get along somehow.

This logic pains me. An inefficient or expensive option, if it would address these needs satisfactorily seems justified to me.

Worse Than Reported

2011-07-11T11:37:00.000-07:00

I minimized the awfulness of the weather report yesterday. Today's paper reports that Hutchinson had the nation's hottest temperature yesterday at 112 degrees. That was the reading at both 5:00 and 6:00. This temperature broke the previous record for Hutchinson for this date by four degrees. The old record has stood since 1980.

The temperature yesterday also tied the all-time high for Kansas, which also occurred in 1980, on July 10.

Anyone who lived in Kansas in 1980 and was old enough to make memories, remembers that scorcher of a summer. With perhaps one exception (missing it by a degree or two), every day in July that year saw triple digit temperatures. On a number of those days, the high was almost 110.

The temperature was already over 100 yesterday at 10:00. On our way to the car to head for church, I said a thank you prayer that our church now has air conditioning. That was not the case in 1980.

As I said in yesterday's post, we are still outside the "Excessive Heat" warned area, probably for several reasons. One, the predicted high for yesterday was below the mark, so the weather service apparently didn't see it coming. Two, I suspect it was less humid here than it was south and east of us where the "Excessive Heat" warning was in effect. When I checked in the afternoon, we were at 20 % humidity.

I wasn't encouraged by the way the news article in today's paper summed up the situation by quoting a meteorologist: . . . temperatures in south central Kansas will probably be 103-105 today, then around 100 on Tuesday and Wednesday before warming up as high as 105 on Thursday and Friday. There's no end in sight. . . .

Grant said at noon that he heard an agronomist for this area say this morning that he doesn't think there will be a single acre of dry land corn harvested here this year. I hope he's wrong.

On the NOAA site, the most recently published drought monitor map shows our area to be in extreme drought. The next higher and most extreme situation of all has crept into southern Kansas, in Harper County, which is designated as being in exceptional drought.

All this is enough to add some real fervor to the prayers that are and will be ascending.

Sunday Wrapup--7/10/2011

2011-07-10T17:44:00.000-07:00

Lord, have mercy.

At 7:00 tonight the temperature is still 105 degrees. We're not even in the "Excessive Heat" warned area. That area includes all the counties in Kansas southeast of here. It's still desperately dry here, although several places around had a bit of rain last night. Most of us saw it slide around to the southeast, as has been the case many, many times this summer. I'm beginning to feel like "The Elephant's Child" who said, with the crocodile pulling on its nose: This is too buch for be.

Joe Y. admitted during share time at church that, with the crops suffering as they are, he's finding it a bit hard to keep his chin up. And he finds it hard to talk about financial matters in church--because he realizes that even when we feel "poor" we are still enjoying a higher standard of living than is true in much of the world--and because talking about money just seems so obnoxiously materialistic. He's a farmer, as are a number of others at church. He has tried to focus on Who God Is instead of What God Does, and finds it a great help in this time of trouble.

Sanford expressed a wish that we would get together some time specifically to pray for rain, and recounted a story from Minnesota about 125 years ago. A terrible grasshopper plague descended on the state, and the governor called people to a day of prayer and fasting. Skeptics mocked, and there was a short period of very warm weather in which more grasshoppers hatched, and the problem worsened. The mocking continued. Then a cold front blew in and the grasshoppers got buried in a layer of freezing rain and snow.

This morning David and Gary made a hurried executive decision and declared 8:00 Wed. eve. as the time to gather at church to pray for rain. David urged us to invite people from other churches to attend. (You're invited.) The regular service had been canceled because of the Faith Builders chorus program tomorrow evening. "If we get rain before Wednesday evening, we'll have a praise service," David said.

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Hiromi came in tonight and reported that he saw the mama cat with a dead oriole in its mouth.

"Well, what am I supposed to say?" he asked, a bit defensively, no doubt anticipating my sad noises. "It's nature taking its course, isn't it? I didn't shoot it. I think the cat was proud of her prize."

I know very well that inside he was jumping up and down, seeing far fewer bird-pecked tomatoes in his future. I can't really blame him. It is annoying to see perfectly beautiful tomatoes ruined. But I still mourn the loss of one of the loveliest, brightest birds of summer.

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In one of the last Sunday evenings Harley spent in Russia before he returned to Kansas for the summer, he asked a group gathered in his apartment to tell him about the differences they see between American culture and Russian culture. Culture in this usage refers primarily to how people view life and the world. The list Harley shared with us at church on Wed. eve. grew out of that input. The following information comes from my notes.

1. Americans have the strong belief that we personally can shape the environment around us. Russians subscribe to the concept of fate: "We can't do much to change things." Their language has four different synonyms for "fate."

2. Americans believe in change. They think it's good, and means progress. To Russians, tradition is important. (By implication, change is suspect.)

3. Americans are time oriented. Russians are relationship oriented. The difference can be illustrated with regard to meeting appointments. Americans routinely interrupt a conversation if they see it's necessary in order to be on time for an appointment. Russians would not be so rude as to interrupt a good relationship-building moment of conversation by rushing off to meet an appointment. On the matter of time, approximation is good enough for a Russian. (I think I must be a Russian disguised as an American.)

4. Americans subscribe to equality and egalitarianism based on the Aristotelian idea which was championed in the Renaissance: Man is important. The Reformation reinforced this as well in the emphasis on priests being no more important than the common people they were supposed to serve. The Russians respect authority--to a fault, according to Harley, and presumably also according to his Russian friends.

5. Americans value individualism and privacy, as opposed to collective thinking. Russians think collectively and the evaluate matters in terms of how they will promote the welfare of society.

6. Americans believe in self-help: We can do everything. (Harley did not provide a clear Russian contrast to this idea, but the implication is probably related to #1--and the concept of fate.)

7. Americans value competition. It forms the heart of free enterprise. In Russia, cooperation is a strong value. For example, Russian students regularly engage in what would be called cheating in America. If someone else needs an answer, and you know the answer, why wouldn't you help out another student by sharing yours?

8. Americans have a strong future orientation. Russians cherish the past.

9. Americans are action oriented and work oriented. Russians value who you are, not what you do.

10. Americans are comfortable with informality. Russians value formality. These values are demonstrated in how people dress.

11. Americans value directness, openness, and honesty. To Russians, this can seem blunt and uncouth. They value saving face.

12. Americans value practicality and efficiency. (No contrasting Russian value was specified here or for number 13.)

13. Americans are materialistic.

14. Americans value happiness. The right to its pursuit is guaranteed in the Constitution. Russians value suffering and almost worship hardship.

At Farmer's Market on Saturday, Harley came by to talk. In a bit of chitchat about the subject of his talk on Wednesday evening, he said "There's a reason America is the biggest economic force in the world." He referenced our initiative and our ability to work and figure out how to make things work.

Harley has lived in Russia for the past 17 years, at least during the school year. He lived in several other Slavic countries before that. From that perspective, he has formed impressions about how best to live in such places in a values-influencing way.

1. Learning the language of the people you hope to influence is the first imperative.

2. Work hard at balancing adaptation to local values and maintaining loyalty to basic truths.

3. Forget about establishing denominational "turf" in mission endeavors. Harley has seen too often the confusion and division that results from American religious "hobby horses" being imposed on an unsuspecting audience. For example, Baptists in Russia are not typically Calvinist, but American influence has brought pressure for change in this area.

4. Practice incarnational theology. In other words, live your truth. Harley suggests learning to do something extremely well, and then offering it as a service to those you wish to reach.

On the history of Mennonites in Russia, I gained several insights.

1. In Russia, the Mennonite chapter is over, according to Harley. Only one identifiably Mennonite congregation still exists, and Harley considers its worthiness of support dubious. Nearly all Russian Mennonites went back to Germany after World War II.

2. What is left of Mennonites in Russia often goes by a Baptist label. These people have dissident Mennonite-ism in their history. Years ago, among Mennonites, a sub-group gained a vision for evangelism--something which was frowned upon by the Mennonite establishment, and was in conflict with the terms of their welcome as immigrants from Germany. Evangelism-minded people met on Sunday afternoons, after attending the regular morning service. Eventually these people came under the leadership of Baptist churchmen from Hamburg, Germany, and from then on, these people did not cling to their Mennonite name.

3. Mennonite Brethren from Russia were at one time very active in mission work, especially in India. This denomination still has a strong presence in India, as a result.

4. Today, in Russia, the non-mainstream churches (Russian Orthodox is the denomination which is claimed as the church home of 82 % of the people.) are the main voice against abortion. They are the only voice against alcoholism and recreational drug use.

Harley speaks in glowing terms of the Orthodox theological tradition as being the closest to original Christianity. The worship of God is a major emphasis. Harley believes, however, that in the matter of ethics, there is much to be desired in the Orthodox Church. He recommends two writers on the subject: Calistos Ware (not sure of spelling) in Orthodox Theology, and Don Clendenon (spelling?). I don't have a title for the last author.

Someone asked if infant baptism is practiced in the Orthodox church. Harley said, "Yes. It is a covenantal baptism." I forget exactly how he described this, but I know from having attended a Presbyterian college how they define it, and Harley's description seemed much the same. It is not how a person becomes a Christian, but a way of symbolizing an infant's welcome into a community of people who have a covenant with God to live as His people--much as Israel did in the Old Testament.

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Dale Conkling told us on Saturday at our market stand that he had been to hear the Kansas Youth Chorus program at Cedar Crest on Wednesday evening. He was in awe of how good it was. "I liked it so much that I'm going to go hear it again when they sing at Center," he said. John Miller directs the group this year.

So far they have sung in Missouri, Illinois, and Indiana on this trip, in at least one prison, and in three churches.

This morning in church, for devotions, Arlyn N. used a phrase from the purpose statement of the chorus to focus our attention on worship. I can't remember the exact quote, but it was something about worshiping God by making an extravagant personal investment. From what I hear, the "extravagant personal investment" is yielding good returns.

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Someone emailed me last week, wondering if writing about the shenanigans here a week ago wouldn't encourage more of the same. I acknowledged that this was possible, and then explained why I decided to write about it anyway. Here's an excerpt from the much longer explanation:

"I may never know whether any of what I hoped would come of it actually happened. And maybe I'll come to see it as a mistake to have said anything about it. I guess if that happens, I'll have to re-think my general philosophy of shining the light of day on the details of life--the better to see whatever significance is present in those details. I tend to have a "Let the chips fall where they may" attitude, since I've long ago figured out that even the most careful calculation does not guarantee being able to predict where those chips will fall and how hard they will strike or how high they might bounce."

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One of my favorite things to do with leftover flowers from Farmer's Market is to pass them out to the Sunday School children after church. I usually do one class at a time, starting with the youngest. I have a little face to face time with them this way, and I seize it as a teachable moment (I'm sure you can't imagine this.) and tell them the kinds and variety names of what I'm giving them. It's sweet how some of them want to make sure their siblings get a fair deal in this handout, and they'd love to round up all their friends and relations to spread the happiness around. I usually talk about how all of their family can enjoy the flowers I'm giving them today, and I'll get to the other Sunday School children another time, etc. This seems necessary in order to make the recipient group manageable.

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The very worst thing about teaching Sunday School is that I can never remember who I asked last to lead in prayer. I'm afraid I keep asking the same people repeatedly without realizing it. This is one of the great inconveniences of having a poor memory. And I often forget even to ask anyone before we've taken prayer requests, and then I feel bad for asking someone to lead who may not have been taking careful note of each request. So I do it myself. Otherwise, I really enjoy teaching my Sunday School class. Each of the ladies is dear to me, and I love to see them around the circle each Sunday.

Teaching on Sundays feels different to me during the summer when I'm not already teaching five days a week. The bulk of my studying--certainly all of my note-taking--usually happens on Sunday morning. I'm not proud of this procrastination, but it gives me a really good reason for jumping out of bed at 5:00 AM on Sunday, and I really don't mind doing that.

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The air conditioner in the minivan is on the blink. It makes the right noises, but it doesn't produce cool air. I'm bummed at this poor timing. The muffler on Hiromi's car has lost its moorings, and the tail end bounced along on the pavement on his way home from work late Saturday night. He spotted a trail of sparks as he was driving along and figured out what must be causing it. When he got home, he purposely parked so that he wouldn't have to back up to move the vehicle. "I don't want to jack knife the muffler," he explained. Good word picture--a fine example of the pleasure of hearing English expression from the lips of a non-native English speaking person.

I suppose both vehicles will have to go to the repair shop, and I'm pretty sure the minivan will not be first in line. It runs, after all, doesn't it?

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Lexi is staying here while Shane and Dorcas are on chorus tour. She's as pleasant as always, trotting contentedly along after anyone who's going anywhere outdoors, and looking up expectantly at anyone who stands still and looks down at her. She's irresistible when she does this, and a pat on the head is the only possible response.

She spends a lot of time lying in the shade under one of the vehicles. (Those short legs are good for getting into low-clearance places.) She also figured out that flopping down in the middle of a freshly flooded okra bed is a good feeling.

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On Friday, a semi driver delivered some of the flooring we ordered online. The flooring was the only thing in that big box trailer when he got here.

He asked me to sign something, and, before he looked at the signature, he said, "Let me guess. Your name is Nisly or Yoder."

Ha. "No. My name used to be Miller, but I married a Japanese guy, so that complicated my last name quite a bit."

"Oh, so are you related to the Miller Seed Farms people?" (For a non-Mennonite, he plays this game pretty well.)

"Yes, but not through the Millers. It's through the Nislys." He shook his head. I didn't bother to confuse the matter further by explaining that we are actually also related through the Millers, but not the Miller family that the seed farm is named for. The original "Mrs. Miller Seed Farm" was the daughter of a Miller (my great, great aunt) who married a Nisly. "Mr. Miller Seed Farm" came from Oklahoma and was not closely related to the Kansas Millers. To those who are still with me, thank you for your perseverance.

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Hiromi shot a skunk the other day out by the old silo. So the other day, when it was a Pig Smell day (i. e. a PS day), the south wind carried an odor of a different flavor to the west garden. It was a PSS day (Pig/Skunk Smell).

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Grant says the moles have invaded the front lawn. He took a picture of some mole damage and sent it to Shane with the message: This is why you shouldn't kill mature bull snakes.

Grant and Shane do not see eye to eye on this matter.

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Tomorrow we get new carpeting installed in one of the bedrooms at the Trail West house. We ended up getting a piece just the right size from Wolcott's on Fourth Street. They're doing the installation as well.

The guy who owns the store knows Andy Yoder well--from Partridge.

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For the noon meal today, we had roast beef, prepared in the crockpot with new potatoes, creamy cucumber salad to eat as a topping for the potatoes, corn on the cob, sliced tomatoes from the garden, and locally-grown cantaloupe. This is my idea of good eating.

Grant had left a note on the table: Gone shooting. He missed the meal. I can't imagine that that pleasure could possibly have outweighed the summer food eating pleasure. But what do I know?

Expert Advice on Rhubarb

2011-07-09T19:43:00.000-07:00

Bob Marker stopped by my stall at Farmer's Market today and talked about growing rhubarb. He had a great wealth of knowledge, and I couldn't believe he has lived right here all these years and I never heard of him before. The quantity of rhubarb he usually sells is measured in thousands of pounds. He never harvests any stalks that are not a yard long and an inch and a half in diameter. (I'm estimating by what he showed me with his hands and fingers.)

I kept him talking by asking questions. I learned that the variety his family grows is descended from what his immigrant grandfather brought with him when he emigrated to the United States. It goes by the immigrant's family name: VanNorman (not sure exactly how it's written).

The grandfather's original patch was just west of Nickerson--11 acres in size. He never watered his rhubarb, but it was well-watered nonetheless by the high water table on his sandy land near the Arkansas River.

The rhubarb patch Bob maintains now is three houses south of Benton's Greenhouse on the east side of the road. His phone number is 663-6875. He sells rhubarb roots at a 3/$5.00 price when he divides his own stock every four years. One clump can be a foot or more across by the time it's ready for division. He rotates his plantings so that he has some to divide every year. Bob says he doesn't make money from selling rhubarb at $1.00/lb., but he makes good money from selling planting stock. In his will, he has specified Benton Greenhouse as the heir of his rhubarb stock.

Bob says he plants his rhubarb rows on a ridge. Each ridge is a big step away from the next ridge. Along the ridge, he spaces the plants a big step apart as well. The ridge is important because rhubarb rots easily when the soil it grows in can't drain well.

He has often fertilized with 13-13-13 from the Coop, but this year his ground seemed worn out, and he didn't harvest a thing. His rhubarb is there, but it's not kicking out the size stalks he insists on, so he's letting it recover its energies. He has also made arrangements to have manure hauled in, in an effort to rejuvenate his planting. "You have to mulch it really deep when you do that though, or you'll get a tremendous amount of weeds," he said. "I never had a weed in my rhubarb patch except after I hauled in manure."

I forgot to ask Bob whether his rhubarb is green or red.

By posting this information here, I'll never have to try to remember where I left that scrap of paper where I wrote these things down. I didn't ask Bob for permission to make this information public, but he shared it so freely that I presume he is eager to connect with people who are interested in growing rhubarb. If you talk to him, tell him you heard about his rhubarb from the flower lady at the Farmer's Market.

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A very sweet frail elderly lady named Sally Wiens, from Inman, stopped to visit again today. I remember talking several years ago with her about growing flowers. Her face lights up when she talks of all the flowers she has grown and loved. "I got sick and had to move, so I left all my flowers behind. But the people who moved there love flowers as much as I do, and they have kept things looking so nice. I drive by there just to look at the flowers."

What Sally wanted today was to know where I got my zinnia seeds. She used to have large and strong zinnia plants, but has not been able recently to duplicate that kind of growth on the zinnias she plants. I started giving her seed company names and information, then realized that this would be much more simple if I simply took her information and sent in a catalog request via the internet. She was quite relieved to have me offer to do that.

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One couple who stopped at our booth knows Dwight and Karen. They regularly drive out to The Potluck to buy produce. When they saw the meat offered for sale in our stall, they put things together and realized this was the meat source Dwight had been talking to them about.

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The former president of TSW, the company where Hiromi used to work, stopped by. "Where's Hiromi?" he asked.

"In the van, sleeping," I answered honestly. Gotta go sleep before it gets too hot. (This man has a clear sense of priorities, and, as you can tell, he is very purpose driven.)

"Well, I don't think he'll get that bonus today that he was hoping for," his wife Barbara laughed.

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The Lebanese man who loves to buy chard to use instead of grape leaves as a wrap for the little cigar shaped ethnic food delicacies--outdid himself today and bought three big grocery bags crammed full of chard leaves.

"How long does it take you to use that much chard?" I asked.

"One day," he answered. "I buy some of it for my sister," he added.

"You know what I do with it . . . . " I did. "It's so much better than grape leaves."

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A vendor across the way crossed the aisle to fuss over my flowers. I didn't exactly follow everything she said, but something about the market in Seattle, WA that is the oldest Farmer's Market in the country, and how the flower vendors there sell flowers in $5.00 bunches by pulling stems out of many buckets and wrapping the whole collection in newspaper for the customer to take.

I don't think she was being critical of what I was doing, but I thought . . . Lady, you have no idea how different it is to grow flowers in Kansas than in Washington. Any $5.00 bunch of flowers I could put together would probably represent several times the time and cost of that Washington bunch, and I'd still have a hard time getting people to buy, no matter how pretty the flowers. This is a tough flower market in a tough economic time. Especially this year, a long-stemmed flower grown in Kansas is a miracle, and finding a customer to sell it to is another miracle."

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Today, twice, a customer asked if I would take the flowers out of the vase and sell them for $5.00--logical for a person who doesn't need a vase. I surprised myself by refusing to do that.

"I don't take apart an arrangement and sell it for less after I have spent the time to put it together," I said. I did offer to sell both zinnias and statice by the stem at a very reasonable price since I had more than I needed for the arrangements. I sold more arrangements than usual today, in spite of those refusals.

Blog This

2011-07-05T09:08:00.000-07:00

Discovered on the floorboard of our minivan: A poopy diaper inscribed with the words--Blog this.

So I did.

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Someone from the sheriff's department came out yesterday to investigate. This is exhibit #4 in the saga.

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So far I have faithfully followed the instructions directed toward me. I was told to get a life. I did. (Actually I just continued the good one I already had.) I was told to "blog this." I did.

I can only wish the perpetrators of this mischief were as faithful in following the advice they've no doubt been given--the Godly sort, given in love. Maybe reading this post will remind them of some of those things.

Blogger, Get a Life

2011-07-04T09:47:00.000-07:00

Someone painted a message on the straw bales lined up south of our corn patch: Blogger, Get a Life.

In more craziness, someone posted an ad on Craigslist with our number and Grant's cellphone number: Free Farm Fresh Eggs, Limit: 2 dozen per customer. Call early. These will go fast. The first and only call so far was from someone we knew, who quickly helped us figure out that someone had posted dishonestly. In the near future, we won't be answering any calls from numbers we don't recognize or that don't come with a caller ID name.

I won't be painting any straw bales with this message, but I'm thinking: Prankster/Disturber of the Peace/Trespasser/Identity Thief/Defacer--Get a Life.

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"Do you have any enemies?" I asked Grant.

"I don't know, but I'm fixin' to get one," he answered. That was before he saw the straw bale message obviously directed at me.

I should probably have asked, "Do I have any enemies?"

If my blog irritates someone, all it takes to remove the irritation is to not type in my blog address or click on any link to this blog. That's the beauty of blogging. Nothing I write is ever in anyone's face unless they first willingly thrust their face into this blog. After that, any coward can take cheap shots from a position of anonymity. People with the necessary courage can be up front about their identity and grievances.

Thunder King Report

2011-07-04T07:41:00.000-07:00

To the person(s) who launched a $2.50 Thunder King fireworks explosive and a string of firecrackers in our driveway at approximately 1:45 this morning:

1) All three adults inside the house were awake or awakened. None of them were amused. Many bad vibes were launched in your direction.

2) The guinea fowl nesting right next to the launch site must have had a near heart attack, to say nothing of the developing keets inside the eggs. Very rude. Deadly perhaps.

3) Please celebrate to your heart's content . . . preferably at another time and place. Better yet, give us the money you blew up on our property. That would warm our hearts in a thinking-of-you kind of way that wasn't possible this way.