Close Encounters of the Hurt Kind

Posted on September 21, 2012 by Doc Arnett

In the process of getting water from the hydrant, across the driveway, over the pile of old utility poles and under the fence into the horse trough, I thought it might be good to rinse out the trough. So, I pulled the trough over, tilted it up and washed it out, using my hands to rub off the remnants of whatever it is that makes the bottom of a tub feel a bit slimy. After rinsing out the last bit, I let the big, black, Rubbermaid TuffStuff container flop down on the ground, then pushed it back into place. Then, I swung around to pick up the hose.

Halfway through my swing, it occurred to me that I had not properly calculated turn radius, body angle and proximity of the steel fence post that was close to my head. The reason this occurred to me had little to do with deliberate reflection and much to do with the sudden pain emanating from above my eye, the bridge of my nose (I was wearing my glasses), the side of my face and somewhere in the vicinity of my left ear. I stood for a moment, well, actually, half-stood in that nether position when collapsing would seem to be complete exaggeration but standing straight up doesn’t seem like a really terrific idea either.

After a moment, hearing nothing that sounded like blood dropping onto the dust at my feet, I continued with the duties of the moment. I finished filling the trough, then carried feed to the horses and resumed whatever project I was working on in the garage.

This morning, after my monthly shower, I dried off and then began combing my hair. I noticed a small dark spot just at the edge of the hairline near my left temple. A small cut, a bit of a bruise, nothing to provoke much sympathy or admiration. Had I gone inside the house immediately after the smashing my face into a fencepost incident, I would have seen a bit of blood and immediately convinced myself that the severity of my injuries was dramatically greater than assumed.

Focusing on our hurts nearly always makes them seem greater. Going on with the better parts of life frequently makes them seem less awful. But it is, even then, good to remember what’s around you before making any sudden moves.

H. Arnett
9/21/12

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An Appreciation

Posted on September 20, 2012 by Doc Arnett

Sometimes in the shadows of an open door,
we see something that we have never seen before,
or have seen a thousand times
and never noticed.

Maybe it’s a change
in the way the light lands
on an old man’s hands,
or the way the sky is somehow caught
in the eyes of a lover,
or the strands of an aging mother’s hair
wisped lightly about her face.

It could be learning something new
about someone we’ve known for years,
or a stranger’s tears
shed silently in the back of a bus,
or how a light gust of wind
sets the leaves of a sycamore shimmering,
or the slightest glimmer of faith
in the face of some terrible testing.

Maybe, sometimes,
it’s something as simple
as a few words on a page,
blazing into a new hope,
a new courage,
a deep refreshing,
a powerful healing.

More often than not,
such things as these
come to me
in such moments that my needs
are choked into the parts
that cannot find the words,
groanings too deep for speaking,

and I feel the comfort
of a Greater Hand.

H. Arnett
9/20/12

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Negative Opportunity

Posted on September 19, 2012 by Doc Arnett

You will have at least one chance today,
probably more than that,
to be offended,
to be hurt,
to be angry,
to return insult for insult,
to return injury for injury,
possibly even to sever a relationship:

don’t.

H. Arnett
9/19/12

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From Weed to Flower

Posted on September 18, 2012 by Doc Arnett

I was looking around the pasture early Sunday morning, trying to find out what might have caused the cut on the back of the mare’s leg-a vee-shaped gash near the hock. I found some kid’s toy truck that had been thrown over the fence and a few bits of trash and other debris. The only thing I found that seemed even remotely possible as the injury culprit was a piece of old broken concrete with a sharp, jagged corner. There was no blood, though, to confirm possibility as definite. As I walked along the fence, near the elm trees on the old property line, I noticed a bunch of small weeds, loaded with blooms. 

Funny how blooms turn weeds into wildflowers, isn’t it?

These were only eight-to-twelve inches tall and covered with tiny, daisy-like blossoms. The long, slender petals were white. Some of the blooms had yellowish centers, some had lavender ones. They were all lovely, dainty. There was nothing dainty about the stems, though; they were tough and wiry. I pulled out my pocketknife and began cutting some to make a bouquet for Randa.

A few minutes later, while I was arranging them in a small glass, I reflected on the “transformation” of  the plants, which was really more about the transformation in my perception. A week ago, they were just weeds, an inconvenience, an aggravation because they were growing where I’d rather have had grass for the horses. 

There are people and events in our lives that throughout the long, dry summers seem like nothing more than weeds. We have no desire for them or see any particular reason to pursue relationship with them or make any effort to get to know them better. “Why would God put you in my life?” we may wonder, “You’re actually a bit annoying, really.”

Until they bloom. And then, at just the right time on just the right day, they bring an unexpected relief and blessing to us.

H. Arnett
9/18/12

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A Gentle Calling

Posted on September 14, 2012 by Doc Arnett

In the ending of a somber day’s chill,
we sit with friends at a hill slope restaurant,
see gray and trees out the window to the east.

During dessert, I see the least bit of pink
kissing the clouds
and know that this passing front
must have broken up a bit off to the west.

As we walk out to where the car is parked,
a low fringe of red
burns around the bark of hardwoods along the street.

Heading west on 36,
I cannot keep my eyes from fixing on the sky:
long threads of red and pink
bleed along the lines of clouds,
incredibly smooth streaks low to the earth,
streaming northward above the thin strip of clearing.

Passing over the bridge,
I see the long low ridge that rims the river,
miles of woodland etched black against the sunset.

Growing from the south,
looking like the great plume of an ostrich,
soft wisps of white reach for miles,
gentle curls stroked over a dozen shades of blue.

In the wonder of this view,
in the warming embers of this glorious glow,
how could I not know
there must be a God

who is both Love and Beauty?

H. Arnett
9/14/12

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Foreign Trade

Posted on September 13, 2012 by Doc Arnett

Johnson Grass, kudzu, starlings and those huge water rats known as “nutria.”

This is the short list off the top of my head of great import ideas run amok. The first was going to be the greatest fodder ever, growing quickly and providing lots of lush forage for livestock. The second was going to protect the deep ditches of the Deep South from erosion. The third was, at least according to the illusion of memory, brought over to control the English sparrow population. The final one was to extend the financial opportunity of bayou fur trappers. I won’t provide a comprehensive comparison but I will note that all of them share one thing in common; things didn’t go according to plan.

Johnson Grass proved itself to be a noxious weed, extremely persistent, pervasive and invasive, displacing native grasses, pasture and hay. And, while its early growth is somewhat fodder-like, it quickly becomes tough and unsavory. This I know not so much from personal experience as from observation of livestock. Kudzu is great for erosion control, growing several inches per day and covering the ground with protection from pounding rain. It also covers and smothers trees that are fifty feet tall and is similar in persistence, pervasiveness and invasiveness to Johnson Grass.

With similar undesirable attributes, the prolific starling quickly became a pest, completely unconcerned with the purpose for which it was invited here. As for the giant water rats, a drastic decline in fur values yielded a corresponding declining interest in trapping. Now, nutria are destroying the natural habitat and over-running the swamps of the South.

I could have added the Asian carp and with a bit of research, numerous other examples of things that were seemingly held in balance in their native homes yet became disruptive and destructive when taken somewhere else.

The human creature is a strange bundle of contradictions. We are so often suspicious and inclined to believe the worst in so many situations. Yet, in the very situations when suspicion and pessimism are singularly rational, we toss them aside and stride, even run straight for trouble.

Too often, when we think we see some advantage to us in a situation, we are too willing to believe nothing but good can come of it. And while it may often appear to have some pleasing, immediate result, the ultimate effect of importing sin into our lives is never positive. We will always end up dealing with the consequences of having something in a place where it never belonged.

H. Arnett
9/13/12

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Seasonal Thoughts

Posted on September 12, 2012 by Doc Arnett

I note with some sadness
how early the darkness
comes already in the evening
and how late it lingers in the morning.

It seems that only a few weeks ago
we could sit in the slow dusk,
sipping iced tea and talking in low voices,
watching the husks of trees
grow dark against the deepening colors of the western sky.

The changing tilt of the earth,
three months now past the summer solstice,
sifts more quickly through the shifting shades,
accelerates the moods of night and day
and day and night.

It is with little regret
that we have passed from the hungering sun
of July and August:
withering drought, splintering earth.

And I crave the crisp air
and moderate days of autumn,
but I wish that I had accomplished more
in the long light of summer.

H. Arnett
9/12/12

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A Righteous Poverty

Posted on September 10, 2012 by Doc Arnett

It is not just the wealthy
in need of that miracle of mind
that finds them changed of heart:
to know that no earning starts or continues but by blessing,
to see themselves as no greater than the least of these,
to know that every breath is a gift,
to know that others have worked harder for less,
to understand the true nature of things,
to be grateful for food, clothing and shelter,
to look upon the most wretched without looking down upon them,
to know that all humans are made in the image of God,
to know that all the riches of the earth rot, decay, or corrode,
to be eager to do what is right,
to be rich in good deeds,
to be generous and willing to share.

It is not just the wealthy
nor only those that would be wealthy:

All who would inherit
the kingdom of heaven
must become poor in spirit.

H. Arnett
9/10/12

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Reseeding

Posted on September 6, 2012 by Doc Arnett

I reshaped the upper part of the yard in April, changing the slope so that most of the water drained away from the house. That tends to have a beneficent effect on foundation walls and basements, it seems. With all due diligence, I smoothed the soil and sowed the seed. The ryegrass sprang up quickly and did well for a while, particularly after I added fertilizer to my efforts.

In the early part of the drought, I watered a few times. Then, in consideration of the amount of time and water that were going to be required, I quit watering in June. By mid-July, the lush, soft green had changed to a crunchy brown. Deep fissures formed in the dirt, as they usually do in long dry periods. Out of curiosity, I once turned the hose on full throttle to see how long it would be before one particular crack filled up with water. After ten minutes and around fifty gallons of water, I gave up. As the heat and drought drug on, I planned on re-seeding this fall.

As the rains continued missing us for the most part, the brown continued as well. The up side was that I didn’t have to mow the yard for two months. That didn’t change with the half-inch of rain we got two weeks ago. Or with the inch that came a little later. Apparently, the ground was so dry so deep that it just sucked the moisture down right past the roots of the grass. Then came this past weekend.

Three-quarters of an inch on Friday-Saturday and then another three-quarters on Monday night brought a surge of growth to the crabgrass and watergrass. As well, it brought a small miracle to the ryegrass. Overnight, it seems, it turned green and started growing again. It is as lush now as it was three months ago.

There are things in our lives that have died and cannot be resurrected. Perhaps, even, should not be resurrected. There are others, though, that in spite of all appearance at the moment, need only a bit more rain before returning to the good green of spring. While we ought always be willing to accept the will of the Lord, we ought never cease praying. Faithful prayer can turn clouds into dust and dust into rain.

H. Arnett
9/6/12

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The Glory of Purpose

Posted on September 5, 2012 by Doc Arnett

These may well be the ugliest apple trees I have ever seen, these three trees standing at the south edge of the north pasture. The ice storm that hit in December of ’07 left a slew of dead and broken branches, triggering a spate of growth that left a mass of small branches clogging the middle part of the trees. I can’t identify the variety of any of the trees but I do know that each of them is different from the other two.

The tallest and the one with the least branches might be something akin to a Golden Delicious. All I know is that its apples have been tiny and green, only now beginning to ripen. The middle tree, almost stripped of branches on its southern side by the ice storm, produces apples with a soft fruit, medium red in color and a bit streaked in color. The other tree, Randa’s favorite, has a firmer fruit with a hint of tartness, very crisp in flavor and deep red in color. If one were forced to pick the ugliest of the trees, this one might get the nod. Then again, it could be a three-way tie.

None of them look anything like the notion of a well-formed tree. Each is twisted, clumped, gnarled, mangled, with nothing like any appearance of having been deliberately cared for in the last fifteen or twenty of their sixty-to-eighty years of life. All I can say for them, in the way of anything approaching a compliment, is that in this year of extended heat and drought, they have produced a bountiful crop of apples.

With no particular care, except having nearly all of their dead branches removed, they have yielded several bushels of apples. With no fertilizing, no shaping, no pruning, no protection from insects or blight or anything else, they have simply done what apple trees do: they have born their fruit.

Many of the apples were small but there have been several of late that have been large enough to nearly fill my hand. Nearly all of the apples have had some blemish but many of them are almost perfect. Many of the early apples were sour, some even bitter, but most of these in the full of the season are very sweet and flavorful. All together, they have produced the best cider I have ever made.

When we are fully focused on nothing but our highest purpose, when we abandon the pride and concern of appearance, when we have become deeply rooted in that which truly gives life and strength, all of the scars and ugly, all of the tangled and mangled will fade into the obscurity of insignificance, completely lost in the glory of yielding the fruit for which we were made.

H. Arnett
9/5/12

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