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The Harvest, We Reap What We Sow

The Harvest, We Reap What We Sow

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Observe them carefully, for this will show your wisdom and understanding to the nations, who will hear about all the decrees and say, “Surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people.” What other nation is so great as to have their gods near them the way the Lord our God is near us whenever we pray to him? And what other nation is so great as to have such righteous decrees and laws as this body of laws I am setting before you today?  Deuteronomy 4:6-8

 

The laws, the rules we live by.

The speaker introducing the message at church this Sunday used the analogy of playing with fire.  Our innate insistence on sometimes challenging wisdom, rules, and laws out of a curious need to know more,  or the feeling that we know better maybe. Our inability to trust what we are being told, our need to learn it ourselves… like playing with fire, until we get burned.

 

I am in western Pennsylvania again and this time of year it’s the harvest, the time when you reap what you sow.

It was a good week, the predicted rain held off and “the boys” (Kim’s brothers Kerry and Keith,  and nephew Josh) were able to finish harvesting the soybeans in the fields down by Scullton and return the two large combines back to the farm to be moved to another field when work started again on Monday.

Unlike the last time I shared my harvest experience, a time when there was uncertainty in my life and uncertainty in our country with the upcoming election, I didn’t get to ride in the combine.   But by the end of the weekend I would feel that it was me who was benefiting from the reaping.

Having moved from the intro message delivered in the sanctuary to the basement classroom for Sunday school, we discussed Deuteronomy some more and the laws being passed on to the new nation of Israel.

Later those same rules to live by would be shared to other nations through the life of Jesus and his disciples.

On this Sunday, as we always do when we are at Kim’s home in Somerset, we attended services at the Geiger Church of the Brethren.  I have been to church here many times over the last twenty years, but not until this visit was I ever at the Geiger Church of the Brethren for their communion.

The Brethren have communion only twice per year. That may be because it is different.  Communion for The Church of the Brethren is not just the bread and cup.  It is referred to as the Love Feast.

And the Love Feast does include a meal as you might guess, but more importantly it includes, just as Jesus did for the disciples at the Last Supper, the washing of feet.

Only after they wash each other’s feet, a simple meal is served.  And finally after the meal the bread and the cup, the body and blood of Christ is served.

So just like Jesus did at the last supper, I sat in a chair while another brother washed my feet, then dried my feet with the long apron tied around his waist, then he kissed me on the cheek and blessed me.  When it was my turn, and I received the apron, I washed the feet of the next brother behind me.  I dried his feet with the apron around my waist, kissed him on the cheek and blessed him. Then I untied the apron… and so on and so on.

It’s hard not to be reminded in that moment of what Jesus was reminding the disciples;  take his message, and live by God’s rules as he had lived out for them to see, in the time leading up this last meal of fellowship.  By washing their feet he was demonstrating the ultimate act of love for your brother, in humbleness and service.

 

Now, we have another great nation that seems to be in constant turmoil.  As a nation we may not have our God as close to us as He used to be.

I can’t help imagining our leaders, our members of Congress, experiencing this act of love and service to one another; each taking their turn to have their feet washed, dried by the apron, and finished with a kiss on the cheek and receiving a blessing.   Then turning to the member in the next seat, kneeling with the basin, washing and drying their feet, a kiss on the cheek and a blessing.

And so on and so on.

 

Might be different vibe in the room after that.

You reap what you sow.

 

So he got up from the meal. Took off his outer clothing. And wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with a towel that was wrapped around him.

I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.

John 13: 4-5, – 15-17

Awesome…I Have Plenty of Time

Awesome…I Have Plenty of Time

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The clock above my kitchen window says it is 7:00 o’clock.

“Awesome,” I think to myself, “I have plenty of time.”

The problem is the clock above my kitchen window reads 7:00 o’clock all the time lately.

That is because the battery is dead.

But most mornings, even if it just for the briefest moment, I forget, and out of habit I look up at that clock and think:

“Awesome, I have plenty of time.”

 

The last couple of weeks our attention has been on Hurricane Dorian and chicken sandwiches.

Because of my little guys, I was selfishly relieved that the hurricane didn’t impact south Florida as initially predicted. But I can’t help feeling a little ashamed of that selfishness after viewing what happened to the Bahamas.

Then to make it even worse the total anarchy of the situation led to the desperation of looting by armed residents.

While on the flip side of that dose of reality, we had the unreality of desperation with Popeye’s Chicken sandwiches.

Chicken sandwiches that caused chaos and disorder with disgruntled customers, threatening lawsuits; a group rushing the restaurant with at least one brandishing a weapon just to name a couple.

I don’t even eat chicken.

But if I did I wouldn’t want to have to carry a weapon to go buy a sandwich.

I can’t imagine walking into a Burger King brandishing a weapon and rushing the counter for their veggie burger.

Truth is I am not against owning a gun; in fact, the situation that presented itself in the Bahamas, in my opinion, is exactly why you should own a gun.

Who knows when you and your family may find yourselves in these desperate conditions where lawlessness prevails?

 

But this is not about guns.

It’s about time.

The unpredictability of it.

And running out of it.

 

This has been a different summer for Kim and me.

Unlike last year when we got out on our bikes four or five times week, this year we simply got out on our bikes four or five times.

And the excitement and the anticipation of spending time on the kayaks we got for Christmas has so far resulted in only two trips.

All that said we wouldn’t change the summer we had if we had the chance to.

Our parents are in their late 80’s and even 90 in my dad’s case.

Time with our parents we may not have plenty of.

That clock hasn’t stopped.

And that has been our priority and our pleasure this year as I have written before.

Today we remember that eighteen years ago 2,977 of our brothers and sisters boarded planes and went to work all with their own excitement and anticipation of whatever it was they were looking forward to in their lives.  And just recently the husband of a friend of Kim’s drowned off of Cape Hatteras while on vacation with his family. He was just 61, and no doubt had plenty of plans for the future.

 

 

But I am 63.

And the clock above my kitchen window says it is 7:00 o’clock.

Awesome…I have plenty of time.

 

Post Script:

Prayers go out to Frankie Chuday and family, the people of the Bahamas and others affected by Hurricane Dorian, and the individuals and families of those still suffering from the attack on September 11, 2001.

Apotheosis

Apotheosis

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My word of the day, that arrives in my email each day,  on Monday was apotheosis.

It means the best point in something’s development or a perfect example.

The sample sentence was “He is the apotheosis of kindness, treating everyone with dignity and respect.”

A good word, I thought, one I will try to remember.

 

Robert (not his real name) had given up.

After years on the waiting list for a liver, he decided to take his name off.

According to the United Network for Organ Sharing the Model for End-Stage Liver Disease (MELD) is a numerical scale, ranging from 6 to 40 (gravely ill), used for liver transplant candidates age 12 and older. It gives each person a ‘score’ (number) based on how urgently he or she needs a liver transplant within the next three months.

Now at his appointment, Robert learned his number was going up, and according to his physician he had about six weeks to live.

Robert’s first shot at getting a liver was foiled by an unrelated infection somewhere else in his body that  was enough to make the transplant procedure too risky.  For Robert now, lightning needed to strike twice, and that didn’t seem likely.

So at that moment in the doctor’s office with just weeks left, it seemed hopeless.  “Take me off the list,” he said.  He had some work being done on his house and figured he would just spend these final weeks making sure that got done right.

On his way back to his North Carolina home however, Robert had second thoughts.  He called his doctor back to say he wanted to stay on the list.

 

Lee Dingle, a 37-year-old engineer from Raleigh, North Carolina was playing with his kids in shallow waters on Oak Island, south of Wilmington.  Lee Dingle was married and had six kids. Four of those six kids were adopted.

“My partner, my love, and my home died today after a freak accident. Lee was playing on the beach with three of our kids yesterday, and an intense wave hit him just right to slam his head into the sand and break his neck,” his wife, Shannon Dingle, wrote on Twitter on Friday, July 19.

It has been reported that 55 people in need of transplants received Lee Dingle’s organs.

Shannon Dingle also advised people to “make sure your loved ones know your wishes,” because even though her husband was a registered organ donor, the consent still needs to come from next of kin.

 

Ironically, Mr. Dingle passed away from his injuries on the same day that we lost Donny, also an organ donor, 17 years ago.  It was also a Friday.

We will never understand why God’s plan for Donny and Lee Dingle was not what was to be expected.

We don’t know either why God’s plan for Robert included a slowly failing organ.

 

We push back when we read in the Bible that we are to give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

Because that’s not always easy.

Yet we remain faithful.

 

And as for Robert, the weekend following his doctor’s appointment, the appointment he when he almost gave up, he received his second chance.

We will pray for Robert and his family for healing and the fulfillment of what it is that God has planned for him.

 

And my family will also pray for the Dingle family, as we know there are no words at a time like this, except prayer that make any sense.

 

Apotheosis…it seems to work for Donny and Lee Dingle.  “They were the apotheosis of kindness, treating everyone with dignity and respect.”

Yup, a good word I think.

 

A Go Fund Me account has been set up to assist the family of Lee Dingle.  If you would like to donate here is the link. The photo of the Dingle family is from the Go Fund Me page.

 

Feet Faddish

Feet Faddish

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I see people posting these photos of their legs and feet on social media all the time.

I don’t really understand why anyone would want to see a photo of my feet but I thought it might be fun to participate in this social media fad.

 

Finally.

A day on a weekend that I am home.

A day on a weekend that I am home and it is not raining.

Can you believe it is the 13th of July and I am just opening up the pool?

Crazy right?

 

Kim wanted me to clean the garage today.

But I thought nah…

 

Take it easy.

Sit by the pool, under the palm tree, and relax.

Well, I am not quite sitting under the palm tree yet.

That is the palm tree to the left of my feet.

Maybe in 10 or 12 years if I am still here, I will actually be sitting under the palm tree.

 

Cameron told me this morning that when I am not alive anymore, he wants my truck.

That caught me off guard a little but hey you never know.

You never know what God’s plan is.

 

So today, I think I will just sit by the pool, next to my little palm tree, and look at my feet.

The garage will be there tomorrow.

Me, and days like this, may not.

Happy Birthday Baby

Happy Birthday Baby

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Today is Kim’s birthday and we are 270 miles away from each other.  We have kind of become used to this routine this year as we each run some cover for our aging parents.  Kim’s in western PA and mine on the Eastern Shore of Maryland.  Sadly, it has become more efficient to split up on weekends since there never seems to be enough time to cover all our bases.

June is always a wash for us anyway because of our church yard sale which Kim and I are heavily involved in.  That may sound silly in the context of opening up your garage door on a Saturday morning, moving some things out on to the driveway and then parking yourself in a lawn chair while you collect money.

I have written about this event before. Physically it is the most challenging thing that I do every year.  Not even taking into consideration the three weeks we take to prepare, think of it as walking five or six marathons in a 36 to 48 hour time period while carrying someone’s donated sofa.

This year, more than ever, I could really feel it.

This being my birthday month I was also required to renew my driver’s license.  I opted to get one of those real ID’s.  So one rainy morning a couple of weeks ago I got up early went to the DMV which is always a painful experience and this one was no exception

I brought my birth certificate, my W-2, my mortgage statement, my electric bill, my marriage license, and what was left of my social security card.

The guy at the information desk asked what I wanted to do, then asked to see my birth certificate.

My birth certificate is very fragile.  Taped together after all those years of being carried in my wallet from back in the day when you could get served at age 18 and sometimes you needed extra proof of your age.

I smiled and handed it to the guy making small excuses for its condition due to the fact its shares its age with me.

He looked at it and said, “This is not a birth certificate.”

Catching me off guard I said, “Excuse me? This is my birth certificate…it’s been my birth certificate, well (stammering now) …since I was born!”

(Boy that was a really smart thing to say, I thought to myself)

“It is not a birth certificate it is a registration of birth certificate, you need to get the real birth certificate,” he replied.

I continued to debate the authenticity of my birth certificate but to no avail, the guy says, “Would you like to come back with your real birth certificate or just renew your license?”

“I will just renew my license,” I said dejectedly.

And then there was my doctor’s appointment.    I get great anxiety over picking up the phone and making a doctor’s appointment, it takes a lot of self-debating.  However, this time in the week’s leading up the yard sale, the chronic pain in my legs, the mysterious growth on my skin, and the pain and lump in my armpit finally motivated me to make the call.  Truthfully the axillary pain and lump was the decider.  So at 7:30 a.m. on the Monday following the yard sale I scheduled my appointment.

Low and behold as is typically the case when I make a doctor’s appointment, a few days before, the chronic leg pain I had been experiencing for months subsided and the axillary pain and lump disappeared so basically I looked like an idiot going to the doctor. I assured him (he is a new primary for me) I wasn’t a hypochondriac and I really had symptoms…once.  At the end  of the exam he gave me one of those polite, patronizing come back to see me when you have more serious boo-boo’s send offs and I left swearing that the next time I visit a doctor it will be out of the back of an ambulance.

 

While going through my garage earlier this month looking for items to bring up to the church yard sale,  I found a post card from thirty years ago that Alexa had given me on my 33rd birthday.

It read:

Dear Daddy

I love you a lot

It is very fun having you as a dad

I like you very much

Rember (sic)

We have to buy something for Browies (sic) (tomorow) (sic)

I love you being the big 33er

Love

Alexa

 

I think I figured out that Alexa would have been six years old when she wrote this.

I don’t even remember her being in the Browies…I mean Brownies.

 

What is the point of all this?

Not sure.

I guess now being the big 63er causes me to reflect.

The grueling physical weekend I had last week reminded me I am not young anymore and I can’t do what I used to.

My experience renewing my license shows the challenges of change and bureaucracy.  Some problems can’t be fixed no matter how much tape you use.

The pain and swelling in my armpit was a red flag for me on how quickly my situation could change and had me wondering if I was okay with my life up to this point and was I in the right place with God.

A post card from thirty years ago shows me how fast thirty years can go by, and what I don’t remember about my kids growing up.

Now sitting across the table from my parents, I see the preview of what is to come since I am the next generation, and wonder if my kids will do the same.

And being 270 miles away from my wife on her birthday tells me that sometimes there are things in life that that are more of a priority, like our parents.

But also, how much I miss her.

Happy Birthday Baby.

 

PowerBerries

PowerBerries

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Today was an awesome day.

It was the first full day of Spring.

It rained.

But before it rained we may have had the longest stretch of non-precipitation that we have had in a long time.  I was actually able to do some yard work over the weekend and walk across my back yard without sinking.  Today, however I could have used my kayak.

I had the Powerball.

My two Sugar Mountain”Kalinka” Sweetberry Honeysuckle Honeyberry Vitamin Berries Potted Plants that I ordered on Amazon were delivered today.

I started off my day with my protein drink for breakfast as I have done for the last couple of weeks.  It’s made with “milk” made from almonds and cashews and is nondairy.  Well at least that’s what it said in big bold letters at the top of the container.  But the first time I tried it I had to hesitate a bit.  With my first big protein experience in hand and heading for my mouth, I noticed the smaller not so bold letters at the bottom of the carton that admitted it was actually made from almonds, cashews, and pea.  Now there is something about realizing that the beverage you are about to take a big gulp of is made of pea that stops you in mid movement…even if it is pea with an “a”.  After a few moments of thinking rationally through the issue,  down she went.

Then, I mixed my Elderberry with Aronia, Honey and Green Tea Syrup into a glass with eight ounces of water and topped off my almond, cashew, and pea protein drink to complete my morning ritual.

I know,  I am living the dream over here!

Don’t hate.

A few weeks back Kim was researching the benefits of elderberries and ordered a couple of bushes to plant in our yard.

That same weekend we met Kent Marrs of the Village Winery in Waterford, Virginia.  Kent is the owner, winemaker, cider maker, juice maker, syrup maker, self-mocking “snake oil salesman,” and host extraordinaire of the winery that includes a small tasting room off a historic old barn. He is charming, humble, and smart as he has begun to carve out a niche business in producing, promoting, and selling the nutritional and health benefits of the syrups and juices of elderberry and aronia that are alleged to boost immunity, fight cancer, repair organs, and help diabetes. So he has been so successful is his new niche business that he is moving away from wine in a big way.

Kent is very convincing and he has a slew of anecdotal stories from a growing base of loyal customers who swear by his syrups and juices and who now return on a regular basis to restock up on his products and give testimony on why.

On a recent return visit by Kim and I to restock up on our Elderberry, Aronia, Honey, and Green Tea syrup, Kent shared his new venture Honeyberries. Information I found on the internet supports Kent’s excitement saying  “researchers found blue honeysuckle berries to possess the highest content of phenolic acids compared to other berries tested… in summary, the Honeyberry is a nutritional powerhouse!”

Thus the explanation for the delivery of my two Sugar Mountain”Kalinka” Sweetberry Honeysuckle Honeyberry Vitamin Berries Potted Plants from Amazon earlier today.

My honeyberries are going to go head to head with my wife’s elderberries.  We will see who has the bigger immunity.

So on the way home from work I dipped into the grocery store to turn in my winning Powerball ticket, and to pick up some potting soil and some larger pots to replant my new honeyberry bushes.

Like my lottery winnings, my honeyberry plants are currently small (I only matched the Powerball so I let it ride on a couple more for Saturday).

But I am optimistic the future will be bright and will bear fruit.

In the mean time I will drink my liquids made of cashews, almonds, elderberry, aronia and pea; and live this dream.

Who needs the Powerball, I’ve got Powerberries.

 

If you live in Northern Virginia and need something to do on a weekend, take a ride out to Waterford and visit Kent at the Village Winery.  He is very entertaining, interesting to listen to, has a great tasting presentation, and is just fun to hang out with.  And he is very passionate about his berries.

Here is a link to his website

 

Let me know what you think.

Dear God, What a Mess!

Dear God, What a Mess!

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Oh God said to Abraham, “Kill me a son”
Abe says, “Man, you must be puttin’ me on”
God say, “No.” Abe say, “What?”
God say, “You can do what you want Abe, but
The next time you see me comin’ you better run”
Well Abe says, “Where you want this killin’ done?”
God says. “Out on Highway 61”

From Highway 61 Revisited by Bob Dylan

The story retold and modified in these lyrics, are of Abraham and his son Isaac, from the Bible in Genesis 22.  God tests Abraham by telling him “Take your son, your only son, Isaac, whom you love, and go to the region of Moriah.  Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains I will tell you about.”  Abraham proves himself to God and Isaac is spared.  To Abraham, only God had that right to ask to take the life of his child.

Recently Kim and I volunteered to facilitate a small group study based on the book by Jacob Armstrong called God’s Messy Family: Finding Your Place When Life Isn’t Perfect.  The book uses Abraham’s family story in Genesis, to help us make sense of our own families when life isn’t perfect.

Life is not perfect as we were reminded of again with the recent decision in New York to pass their Reproductive Health Act.

I am not a supporter of abortion.  I am sure many of you are and I respect that.

And though I am a non-supporter, I am realistic enough to know it is not going away, it is part of a world health initiative and it is here to stay however imperfect some of us as individuals may feel that is.

I get that.

It’s just that at my age and my current state of getting old, crotchety, and more conservative; as a father of three girls, grandfather of three grandsons, and a part a family who has lost a child…sometimes I just want to say “phooey” again.

Oh sure, there was a time in my naïve, young, counterculture life when I probably landed on the supporting side of this issue as well.  Then again, I was probably on the supporting side of many issues that I can look back on now and say… “What was I thinking?”

Life’s experiences change a lot of things.

Experiences like hearing the heartbeats of my daughters before I even had a chance to hold them or hear them cry.

Or having photos of my grandsons held with magnets on the refrigerator, or downloaded to my cell phone’s photo gallery, and even having shared them in my writing.  And these images are not the traditional school photos, these are sonogram images created by ultrasound equipment allowing me to see them before their introduction to the world. I was just as excited about them being my grandsons then, as I am now.

Or grieving a child whose heart not only beat, but was shared with many as a son, a brother, a friend, and a mentor.

 

 

So I have to ask, what is it about terminating a life that is worth the joy and celebration exhibited in New York?

One article I read said that Cuomo was exultant sporting a pink tie, and that on Tuesday night, the governor ordered the top of One World Trade Center to be lit up pink.

And why pink?  Pink is the revered color associated with Breast Cancer…And why One World Trade Center and not the Planned Parenthood on Bleecker Street? What were you thinking?

And those with him in the photo were just as exultant, big smiles, very pleased with themselves.

I wonder how many of those smiling, exultant faces have the personal experience of losing a child.  I wonder if any grieve a lost child terminated by the decision to abort; or lost by miscarriage; or by sickness, accident, or act of war.  They are all lost children regardless of their age at time of death.

And how many of those who aborted now regret that decision? How many wonder what their child would be like today?  How many of those decisions were driven by the boneheads who fathered those babies, thus protecting their right to continue to reproduce as often as the urge struck.   I have heard anecdotal stories of men who have fathered as many as three maybe even four babies, all conveniently aborted.  Or maybe it was a parent’s decision to protect their daughter from the “shame” of a teenage pregnancy, or maybe that protection was extended to themselves more.

If a law like this must be made, at least give this imperfect decision the level of soberness it is due.

You can’t have a daughter and be that exultant about the opportunity you just created for her to terminate your grandchild.

Or maybe, as in the Governor’s case, you can.

We just have to hope for a world where more people believe only God has the right to ask for your child back.

And given the opportunity, those little heartbeats be allowed to bring joy to those who want to love them.

exultant, big smiles, very pleased with themselves
The Holiday Chronicles: The New Year, Epiphany, Hope, and Rain

The Holiday Chronicles: The New Year, Epiphany, Hope, and Rain

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It’s windy.

I woke up this morning to find a Christmas tree rolling around my back yard.

I knew it wasn’t my Christmas tree because I didn’t put one up this year.

But I have one now.

And I am guessing I also have at least one happy neighbor who I am sure had been stressing over when that tree on his curb was going to finally be picked up.

Now his stress is over. Now I can have that tree on my curb and I can stress over how long it’s going to be there and when it is going to be picked up.

 

We are already over a week into the New Year.

The New Year’s celebrations have come and gone.

And like every year on New Year’s Eve as the day slips into night, and I go to sleep, I wake up with the new dawn in the New Year having some renewed spirit.

An epiphany.

Like something is sure to change…

This year, will be, unlike any other year…

This is the year I am going to … (fill in the blank).

I have passed Go, collected my two hundred bucks and I am ready to go around again, only this time…this year,  maybe I will land on Broadway.

I get another chance to do it better. Maybe forget some pain or unpleasantness from the previous year, because that was yesterday this is today.

And for some reason, today… feels different.

 

Hope.

I wrote about Hope a couple of years ago at a time when I thought I needed to be reminded and maybe we all needed to be reminded that it was going to be okay.

But I think it may help sometimes to have these transition days like a New Year’s Day to metaphorically wipe the slate clean and start anew.

Taking a thought from Hope, I don’t know for sure if God has already revealed what is in store for me.

But here is my New Year’s epiphany…

Maybe He has?

Maybe I was right when I proposed in Hope that that I might be living my rewards already. Maybe the truth is I landed on Broadway twenty years ago and I am already living those rewards I worked hard for and prayed for.

And though I am still going to have those days when I wake up to random Christmas trees rolling around my yard, it’s okay.

This is it.

This is the year I am going to…realize that this is it!

And it is just as it should be…

 

As I thought about trying to wrap this up it occurred to me if I had to summarize 2018 in one word it would be rain.  Rain that destroyed my grass and turned my yard into mud, and kept my tomatoes from turning red.

So while at the gym this evening I listened to rain songs…Lowen and Navarro, the Jayhawks, John Hiatt.

And I settled on Hiatt to sum it up:

 

Batten down the hatches
But keep your heart out on your sleeve
A little bit of stormy weather, that’s no cause for us to leave
Just stay here baby, in my arms
Let it wash away the pain
Feels like rain

 (from Feels Like Rain, John Hiatt)

 

And once again, let our dreams continue undimmed by change, tragedy, conflict, and the tears that may be shed as a result.

 

And let it be, a happy new year.

 

 

 

The Thanksgiving Day Massacre

The Thanksgiving Day Massacre

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Her body was green and she had two vicious jaws
She polished her mate as she kissed him with her claws
She bit off his head so he would not feel the pain
She wanted his body so much she ate his brain

From Don Dixon’s “Praying Mantis” 1985

 

“Curt come here quick, what is this?” my wife yelled from down the hall.

One of our bedrooms has, over time, been converted into a year round plant room, though this time of year it was also filled with plants that had been recently moved from the deck to winter inside.

It was Thanksgiving morning, we were about to leave for Pennsylvania, Kim decided to check on her plants before hitting the road.

On one of the plants was a tan and orange cocoon like thing that Kim called me to look at.

As I was focusing on the nest- like structure, Kim blurted,

“Look! There are ants all over the leaves!”

I shifted my focus now to one of the long leaves and the “ants.”

Finding the leaves covered with insects I responded,

“Those aren’t ants… those are praying mantises!”

 

As a kid growing up in New Jersey I was always told it was illegal to kill a praying mantis.

And I grew old, never having any reason to challenge that.

Therefore, now standing in my spare bedroom, surrounded by plants, in the presence of my wife, and facing hundreds of praying mantises, in my mind I was looking at ten years to life…but I had to make a decision.

I lifted the plant and carefully carried it down the stairs and out on to the deck.

It was a cold morning.

In a short while, I looked again, they were all dead.

Mantis bodies littered my deck.

 

We threw our suitcases in the car and like a modern day Bonnie and Clyde we headed for the Pennsylvania border.

We were on the lam.

With me driving the get-away car Kim got on her iPad and did some research.

It turns out, a praying mantis is pretty scary.  They are carnivores, and there are some larger species that will hunt small birds, lizards, and mammals! They have triangular heads that they can turn 180 degrees, two compound eyes with a few extra regular eyes in the middle just because.  Their legs are equipped with spikes for pinning their prey.  But mostly in the US, they just eat other bugs.

Sort of.

They are also cannibals and will eat their siblings!

And the real kicker, the female will eat the male after mating!

Okay that’s enough…this is what Dixon was singing about.

“What about the protection…are they protected?” I asked as we left Virginia and entered Maryland.

She read from the internet site Snopes/Fact Check:

The belief that it is illegal to kill a praying mantis (a crime carrying a $50 fine as a punishment) has been floating around since the 1950s, and we have no idea where this bit of insectoid legal apocrypha came from:

“When I was growing up in New Jersey, I used to find praying mantises in our driveway and back yard every once in a while. It was illegal in NJ to kill a praying mantis, as I remember.”

There is not (and never has been) any federal or state law proscribing the killing of praying mantises.

No.

We were in the clear.

No Jail time.

No $50 times a couple hundred dead bugs fine.

Okay, okay so I am sure there is something your momma told you that you still believe too.

And besides, like that guy in the Snopes internet post, I’m from Jersey too where we have the Jersey Devil, Bigfoot, and Jimmy Hoffa.

What’s the moral of the story?

Love and trust your mother… but verify.

And check your plants before you carry them in the house, spring comes early indoors.

The Holiday Chronicles: Thanksgiving

The Holiday Chronicles: Thanksgiving

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Some traditional Thanksgiving images at a country store in Springs, PA.

“That this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

It’s Thanksgiving week.

Monday, November 19 as I began to make some notes, was the day Abraham Lincoln delivered the Gettysburg address, one hundred and fifty five years ago. The day Lincoln said “The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here.”

Lincoln got a lot of things right, but that wasn’t one of them.

And what about Thanksgiving?

I watched a TV drama on Tuesday, it was their Thanksgiving episode.   One of the characters expressed his struggle to get through the Thanksgiving holiday each year.  I have heard that before, sometimes from people very close to me. It is true, not everyone has those warm fuzzy feelings at Thanksgiving.

 

When I was a kid we made Pilgrim hats, turkeys, and Native American Indian headdresses out of colored paper. Then we draped the classroom with chains made out of paper rings of brown, orange, and red.

Our characterization of Thanksgiving is attributed to a description in a letter by a Plymouth, Massachusetts settler named Edward Winslow in 1621.  More words that established a legacy.

But some argue that the actual first Thanksgiving occurred 60 years before that in Florida when the Spanish fleet came ashore and planted a cross in the sand.  They gave thanks for God’s providence and celebrated their safe arrival with a feast with the Native Americans they encountered.

Someone I love dearly said recently wouldn’t it be nice if you could pick your own Thanksgiving Day?  Celebrate and give thanks on a day when you or your family had something special to be thankful for.

Maybe there is something to that.

You pick your own day to plant your cross in the sand.

 

And it’s not just those emotional struggles.

Because look what we have done.

Like so many other things we have screwed up.

Thanksgiving is now all about TV deals at Walmart.

Colored paper and pilgrim hats replaced with colored ad circulars, coupons, and doorbusters.

Since now on the day after Halloween stores seem to go right to Christmas, someday Thanksgiving may just be part of the fifty shades of Black Friday.

“The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here” said Lincoln of his words to help dedicate a cemetery at Gettysburg.

Someday as it pertains to the traditions of our Thanksgiving, the world may little note nor remember …what we do here.

 

Now as this Thanksgiving week comes to a close, whatever challenges we may have worried about are behind us.  Having spent my Thanksgiving in the farmlands of western Pennsylvania, it somehow felt more Thanksgiving like, more traditional. And the only real struggle I had was not reaching for the turkey since for me it was my first self-imposed pescatarian Thanksgiving.

And I hope yours was exactly how you wanted it to be, your cross in the sand, like you picked it yourself, without any struggles.

One to be thankful for.

Near Meyersdale, PA