An Inconvenient Truth

Posted on October 10, 2012 by Doc Arnett

There is some comfort in distance from many things: a water treatment plant, a slaughterhouse, a tannery and a host of other such unpleasantness. A proper distance and staying upwind serves us well in such situations. There is also some comfort in a sort of emotional distance, too. Sending money to help the lepers of India seems a less distressing arrangement than living in their midst, seeing their sores and watching the progression of the disease. I find that tucking a check into an envelope and mailing it to UNICEF or The Smile Train or any of a number of such charities rather less distressing than personal delivery. In all truth, I have had very little significant actual contact with the truly poor, the genuinely impoverished.

I like that distance. I like the avoidance. I like the convenience. I like the tiny bit of satisfaction in knowing that I am helping poor children, the diseased, or the impoverished without the contamination of their lifestyles, their personalities, their frustrating lack of sharing of my devoutly middle-class Americanism. I can sidestep the homeless on the streets of Saint Joseph or on the sidewalk in Chicago. I can walk by them on Bourbon Street without making eye contact.

But what happens when I lose the convenience of distance? What happens when the homeless person I meet is actually someone I know? What happens when someone in my church loses her apartment? What do I do when I find out that she and her teenage son are living in their car?

That comfortable anonymity dissipates. The distance is gone and I am confronted with the incredibly close and very loud reality that my younger sister and even younger brother in Christ are homeless. I cannot shelter my conscience nor spare my convictions from the reality that whatever I do NOT do for the least of these, I do NOT do for Christ. Nor do I have the easing satisfaction of knowing that my house is too small, too crowded, too dilapidated to share with someone else. It is large, spacious and rather well heated.

Will I stand before Christ and before those who do share their cardboard comforts, their makeshift lives and their scrounged sustenance and explain to them that I was too afraid, too embarrassed, too oblivious to take the risk of compassion?

When that sweet pleasant distance suddenly evaporates, we are then compelled to look and see our faith, our love and our obedience stripped down to its bareness, naked as a winter wind. We see the vague reflection of our genuine spirit steaming the mirror like breath in a car parked behind the laundromat on a frozen night.

H. Arnett
10/11/12

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An Altar of Light

Posted on October 9, 2012 by Doc Arnett

The foxtrotter sees me step from the house
with bucket in hand;
she whinnies from the fence
in the dark shadow of the treeline
spilled from the edge of the pasture.

The spruce looms dark
in the early dawn,
rising sixty feet above the yard.

All that is low shows black
against the brightening sky.
High clouds streaked with pink
spread in light pattern,
wisps kissed with reflected color.

Thin-leafed branches of elm
etch black lace
against the smooth silk of the morning sky,
sun’s fire burns low
at the edge of the red-rimmed ridge,
shifting and fading into the blue
above pastel strokes.

It seems wrong to call something “chore”
that calls me into such as this.
I dump the feed into the trough,
turn my face to the east,
absorb this day’s dawning.

There are prayers
spoken through open eyes,
praises given through lifted hearts,
appreciation of creation
expressed in adoration
of Him who has made all things.

H. Arnett
10/9/12

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End of Harvest

Posted on October 5, 2012 by Doc Arnett

Well, I guess with the way this year has gone, I shouldn’t be too shocked to see a hard freeze predicted for this weekend, starting tonight. Seems like everything else has come at least a month early this year. We had trees budding in February and hit ninety degrees in March. Corn planting was finished several weeks ahead of the usual time and its harvest is almost complete already. Usually, there’s still corn standing in the fields into November.

Most years, the personal impact of the end of the growing season is limited to missing the flowers and having to start feeding hay to the horses. I’ll miss the flowers but the dry weather got me started on the hay three months ago. It will, though, mean that pretty soon now we’ll have to double up on the hay. There is another impact this year, though.

The freeze will ruin any apples left in the orchard and with the case of cider fever I’ve developed this year, that’s going to hurt. Especially given how many free apples are left in the orchard I’ve been mining this year. It pains me to think about losing thirty or forty gallons of potential cider. To think about all the apples that will rot on the trees and on the ground beneath them. To think about all those glasses of deliciously chilled cider, all those mugs of hot, spiced cider that folks could have had but won’t.

My seasons upon this earth will one day come to an end and I will have spent all the effort that I can spend to make a harvest of all the opportunities that God has given me. I hope that he will be pleased with the cider that I’ve made and shared out of my life.

H. Arnett
10/5/12

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A New Day

Posted on October 4, 2012 by Doc Arnett

In love’s renewing
of each opening dawn,
it does not matter so much
whether this particular one
is dark and gloomy
or a cheery pink
blossoming from the base of the horizon
or the last great sliver of light
before the storm front
reaches from east to west.

What does matter,
and I see this in the best part of my self,
(no matter how seldom others see it)
and that is this:
that each dawn be allowed to be its own one
and be greeted as the granting of grace,
a new day to face life
without the burden of days gone before
and taking no worry from the store
of those to come,

that each day be welcomed
as the day the Lord has made
and shared with us,
to make a good day.

H. Arnett
10/4/12

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A Good Blending

Posted on October 3, 2012 by Doc Arnett

I don’t know how many trees it takes to make an orchard, sort of like not knowing how many acres it takes to make a farm. Surely there are enough apples here to make this an orchard, even if a dozen trees lies below the minimum trunk count. Along with my ignorance on that point, I also don’t know what varieties these are, except for “red, green and yellow.”

There are several trees with large red apples, some as large as small grapefruits. There are a couple of trees that might be the same kind we had on our farm in Todd County, Kentucky. They stay a green color, even when ripe. The green lightens somewhat and the apples freckle as they ripen. They are sweet with a pleasing hint of tartness. There are four trees with yellow/golden apples. These are very sweet, so sugary you can see the crystals in their flesh. There are three trees with small apples that hang on the stems even after they have rotted. Apparently, these ripen quite a bit earlier than the other trees, which still have apples that are not yet ripe. So, while I am confident that there are at least four different varieties in this small orchard in Sparks, Kansas, I don’t know what any of them are.

I do know, without equivocation, that the ground beneath the trees is covered with apples, many of which have already rotted. I know, too, that these apples are the juiciest, most sugary of any from which I have ever made cider.

Cider is one of God’s many good gifts and, like most gifts, comes with good lessons. Even with their blemishes and bruises, even with their defects, their bug bites and wormholes, these apples make wonderful cider.

From time to time, we, with all of our bruises and imperfections, join in with others in some good work. Perhaps it’s changing lives or changing diapers, welcoming strangers or cleaning an ugly vacant lot, spreading the gospel in a distant place or spreading a table with food in our little town. Whenever we join in common purpose of doing what is good, what is kind, what is lovely, we yield a harvest better than its fruit.

H. Arnett
10/3/12

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In Such Times

Posted on October 2, 2012 by Doc Arnett

We hold to faith in such times as these,
having seen before the surge of sin and evil
yet knowing that there is still good in the world.

Righteousness shines from pure hearts,
holiness takes hold of clean conscience
and the godly shine like the morning.

We hold to hope in such times as these,
knowing as surely as leaves tumble toward the earth
that not all is dearth and darkness.

Light glimmers through ash and smoke,
the first blade of green shimmers in the spring
and we know that winter will pass.

We hold to love in such times as these,
craving the pure strength that takes no account
of injury or wrong but is filled by its own longing.

Arms strong but gentle lift the fallen,
lepers are comforted and orphans consoled
by the hands of strangers.

In such times as these,
we need
and need to be

faith, hope and love.

H. Arnett
10/2/12

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Cider Makin’ at the Old Folks’ Home

Posted on October 1, 2012 by Doc Arnett

It was a fine day for cider-making at the residential care facility, cloudy but warm with the full color of fall showing in the trees. About twenty of the residents opted to join Randa, Kevin and me on the patio. Five or six of them rolled out in their wheelchairs and another half-dozen used walkers. Gertrude, who looked to be about eighty-five or so and carried a pound for each year, had maneuvered her wheelchair into the space closest the cider mill. One of the ambulatory folks didn’t like having someone else sit next to her, so she got up and went back inside. Other than that, it appeared that the staff members got everyone arranged in a suitable place. So, we started making cider.

I turned the crank while Kevin dropped in apples, mixing the over-ripe reds with the over-ripe yellows and throwing in an occasional green for a touch of crispness in the flavor. When the slatted oak basket had filled with pulp, we slid it over under the press and Kevin started turning the handle. With a minimum of pressure, the juice started pouring out into the collecting pan in a heavy stream. With a bit more pressure, there was a sudden loud spurting noise and a wad of pummies shot out between the slats.

Most of it landed on the concrete floor but a few bits landed on Gertrude’s white leather shoes. I apologized while I wiped them off with a rag I’d brought along. She just grinned. As Kevin continued pressing the batch, there were a few more blowouts. By the time he’d finished, there were wads of apple mash on many parts of the cider mill and the surrounding area. There were no more human casualties, though. Until the next batch.

Gertrude took another direct hit on her shoes and lower pants legs. I apologized and wiped. She just grinned. At Kevin’s suggestion, I moved one of the big plastic tubs in between her and cider mill. By the third batch, that tub was pretty well covered with pummie shots, proving that we’d picked the right spot for it, I guess. On the fourth and final batch, just about halfway through the press, there was an even louder shot. We looked over and poor Gertrude had taken another hit. This spurt had shot up over the big plastic tub and landed on her face, her shoulder and upper chest. I apologized even more profusely, and wiped rather carefully.

There was a single small chunk of apple a bit farther down on her chest than would have been appropriate for me to wipe. So, I took a short grip on the upper part of her blouse and gave it a tiny jerk. The apple bit popped off. Gertrude just grinned.

Inevitably, some little part of life is going to land somewhere on us where we’d just as soon it didn’t land. Not all of those parts wipe off so easily. But when we can stay calm and grin instead of growling, it sure makes it better for those who are trying to help us through.

By the way, Gertrude loved the cider. In spite of the making.

H. Arnett
10/1/12

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Autumn on a Misty Morning

Posted on September 28, 2012 by Doc Arnett

Just east of Wolf River,
a bit after the highway
begins its long slope down
and right before the last gravel
on this side of the ridge,
there’s a small pasture
on the hill
between the road and the gully.

The grass makes a smooth vee
leading down to the ditch,
incredibly green in the low sheen
of an overcast morning.

At its edge, a scruffy patch of sumac
throws a break of crimson
edging the ragged bank.
A dozen shades of prairie grass
cast their colors
between the bare tans of dirt
and the skirt of trees
with their black trunks
and spreading of leaves
with a lifting of yellows and greens.

On the opposite side of the ditch,
sixty acres of soybeans
show the seams of drought,
brown splotches wrapped around
scattered blotches of green
in the low places that held more rain
after the few times it came.

Even in the dry times,
lives that find
some good source,
deep and steady,
will stand ready to bear
some good color
of God’s good grace,
ready to face the harvest.

H. Arnett
9/28/12

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Thomas Alva Appleseed

Posted on September 27, 2012 by Doc Arnett

Neither the mare nor the gelding likes carrots. Neither of them will eat the Purina treats guaranteed to be something so special they would make horses sing, dance and crochet. They are, however, crazy about apples. Fresh apples, apples with spots, apples with bruises the size of Mt. Rushmore, doesn’t matter: they love apples.

So, seeing how much the horses love apples and how much I hate wasting stuff, I created my own little recycling project. Instead of just dumping all of those pummies (apple pulp leftover from making cider), I decided that I would feed them to the horses. In small amounts at a time so that I wouldn’t founder them.

Now, one of the challenges with feeding apple pulp a little at the time is that apple pulp has a rapid degrade rate. In other words, it tends to rot fairly quickly. Keeping it cold slows down the cycle quite a bit but you can’t fit very many five-gallon buckets of apple pulp into the refrigerator. Cold storage was not a good option. But, there was an alternative.

Dried apples last pretty much indefinitely as long as they’re kept in a tightly closed container. So, I figured I would just spread out the pummies on the concrete slab by the back door. I calculated that they would dry out in just two or three days. You know, September sunshine and dry air and all that. Good plan. In fact, I made it sound so good and so simple that Randa agreed to go along with it.

On the first day, the whole hill had the wonderful aroma of fresh apples. On the second day, the wonderful aroma of ripening apples. On the third day, well, it drizzled for a few hours, reversing the drying process and enhancing decomposition, so to speak. The patio turned into Bug Heaven. Honey bees swarmed, yellow jackets flocked in, and all sorts of other bugs assembled in great caravans: black bugs, brown bugs, red bugs, orange bugs, moths and butterflies.

On the fourth day, Haven Hill smells like the backside of a small brewery.

I believe I’m going to have to rethink my apple drying process. It’s not the first failure of my life, not the first time an idea was better than the result. Lord willing, it won’t be the last. In addition to the learning, failure is also proof of effort. Giving up is often a greater sin than erring. But we should also keep ourselves open to the possibility that some things are just better meant for the compost pile rather than the feed trough.

H. Arnett
9/27/12

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Data Driven Decision Making

Posted on September 26, 2012 by Doc Arnett

I met with one of my colleagues yesterday to discuss what sort of data might be useful to faculty members. Yeah, I know, everyone who reads this will immediately think, “Oh, wow! That is so cool. I wish I could sit and talk about data for a few hours with someone. That would be nearly as much fun as getting my gums scraped.” After twenty or thirty minutes, ( it may have seemed more like an hour or two to the teacher), one of my questions brought up something else.

The something else wasn’t directly related to either of our job descriptions; it had to do with a very stressful situation that one of the colleague’s family members is currently facing. We only talked about that for a couple of minutes but it was an important couple of minutes.

Now, I would never suggest that the water cooler become the focal point for interpersonal counseling; we are, coincidentally, hired to perform fairly specific jobs in most employment situations. But it is often the other things, the things involving home, health and family, that affect the performance and productivity of our co-workers. When we are alert to and genuinely concerned about those other things, we may find ourselves inadvertently contributing to actual improvement in both personal and professional performance.

Any time that we do things that make people feel noticed, valued and appreciated, we contribute to making our place a better place to work. Listening, even or especially without offering solutions, is one of those things.

People will rarely walk up to us and just start talking about what’s really on their heart. We may have to pause long enough to notice something other than our own fixations. If we do, we will find that there is usually some hint or clue. Today just might be a really important day for you to wrestle your attention away from the usual data of your life and focus on someone else’s.

H. Arnett
9/26/12

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