Blooms After the Freeze

After a couple of nights of frost warning, things got a bit more challenging for the gardening, orcharding and landscaping folks in these parts last week; we had two consecutive nights of hard freeze, one of which was accompanied by over four inches of snow. (No, that is not normal for mid-April in northeast Kansas.)

My friends’ tomato plants and a couple of their ornamentals took a beating. A fatal beating as it turns out. Even though I’m no horticulturist, I know that when plants wilt into a dirty dishrag shape and turn black, it’s over for them.

But the nursery sections at the box stores and nurseries still have plenty of plants in stock and they replaced the tomato plants. Not sure yet what they’re going to do about the Looks Like Bougainvillea But It’s Not plant. I’m sure they’ll figure out something.

As to my own figuring, I thought, “Well, there goes this year’s peach crop.” (I tried being an optimist several years back but I got tired of being wrong so much of the time.) But when I looked out the back stairs window yesterday morning, I saw several new blooms have opened up on the peach tree. I think maybe that layer of snow actually insulated the buds from the cold.

God has a way of bringing us through the setbacks and disappointments in our lives. I’ve noticed that in most cases the trauma I actually suffered is less severe than what I expected. And in all cases, his grace brings healing to those who are willing to cooperate with the project.

H. Arnett

4/26/21

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The Angel Bump

I guess there is a huge variety of times when we need a little extra help from our Creator. Sometimes it’s a severe illness, sometimes it’s a tragedy, sometimes it’s a perplexing life situation. And then, at least for some of us, it might be a plumbing project.

I’d been working for three weeks on replacing all of the main drain pipes for our 1917 model Craftsman style house. The cast iron pipes under the concrete basement floor were badly corroded and had even partially collapsed in a couple of sections. Several of the ceramic pipe sections—called “clay tile” by some folks—had sunk slightly, creating low sections with recurring blockages. The entire one-hundred-and-eighty-five foot long line had been invaded by tree roots. So… after paying for five service calls in four weeks, we decided it was time for drastic action.

During a record-setting bitter freeze in February of 2021, I’d finished the basement section, cutting through the concrete and digging down to remove the old pipe and replace it with new PVC plastic pipe. Now on a warm and windy March day, my friend BJ was helping me finish up the outside line. Working in a twenty-four inch wide trench nearly ninety feet long that sloped from six feet to nine feet deep, we worked to connect the last section of four-inch PVC pipe.

The glue used to join plastic pipe sets up quickly and once it sets, it’s generally impossible to separate the joint. We’re talking a matter of seconds here, folks. When you’re working with one end “open” or “free,” it’s not a big deal. But in those situations when you have to connect a piece in between two fixed pieces, it’s a bit tricky. After applying primer to all four joint sections (the inner and outer surface at both joints), you then apply glue to all four surfaces, put the pieces together and rotate slightly to spread the glue. That last part has to be completed in five-to-ten seconds.

Our last joint required us to slip in an eight-inch section of pipe into two angled joints. “As soon as I get this into place,” I told my friend, “I need you to help me pull it slightly forward and then rotate it.”

I swabbed all surfaces with the purple primer and then the glue. I quickly tucked one end into one joint and had the other end almost into the second joint. “Almost” isn’t worth much in PVC connections. The edge of the pipe section was stuck against the edge of the joint. The first end had already started to thicken and set.

My exclamation of “No!” was both prayer and consternation. I hit the stubborn spot sharply with the edge of my fist. The whole piece suddenly popped into place. That in itself was pretty cool but something else happened for which I have no natural explanation. The first end loosened and the piece slid forward about three-quarters of an inch into perfectly balanced position between the two joints. We quickly rotated the piece slightly and it was done.

The new sewer line was finished! We were elated. But BJ and I did not take all the credit. “Sure was nice to have that angel bump there on that last piece,” I noted. “Yes, it was,” he nodded.

You know what I mean, right? Those situations when you just don’t have enough of whatever you need to deal with something, do something or maybe have to do without something and then, all at once, you do have what you need? Wisdom, faith, strength, acceptance, whatever. Something happens, somebody shows up, something happens and then suddenly, things work out. Yep, that’s it. That’s the angel bump that little extra thing that gets you over the hump or through the tunnel. It’s pretty awesome, really. Even if it’s just a piece of pipe fitting into place.

Especially when it’s the piece of pipe that means you can start using your indoor bathrooms again.

H. Arnett

3/22/21

Posted in Christian Devotions, Christian Living, Remodeling/Construction, Spiritual Contemplation | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment

Intentional Thoughts

I think it is grand the way that a few days

of sunshine and sixties

can so keenly dull the edge of memory

that just two weeks ago

our morning temperature reading

was at minus twenty-one.

It is a nice thing and a good habit to fix

of so quickly letting go

of life’s harshest moments

and cherishing the memories

of friends around a warm fire

on a still evening

with the smoke drifting ever so slightly

while flames weave their way

around the edges of well-seasoned wood.

There is always good for the taking,

the making of good moments,

and the deliberate remembering

of the good life has brought us

while not forgetting the lessons it has taught us.

We ought to be right careful

that in our recollections

we more deliberately rehearse

the better rather than the worse.

H. Arnett

3/4/21

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Talking Toward the Darkness

An amber growler set in a bank of snow

shows muted reflections of shifting light

while two gray-bearded pastors welcome the night

from the concrete apron of the garage

on the first evening above freezing in three weeks

with a perfect half-moon shining through birch branches.

Flames from a small bed of blazing woodshop scraps

curl around the hand-split edges of deadstand maple,

sending a welcome wafting of warmth and light

toward chairs set close to a blackened firepan.

It is the first we’ve seen of each other in a month

even though we live just five minutes apart.

We speak of other friends,

a brother’s cancer,

the advanced cirrhosis of a family member,

the deadly disease of conspiracy theories,

of vaccinations and school operations,

church and change and scripture

and the names of things that passed long ago

yet still flicker in the recollection of fire and night.

Flame and embers play across our glasses

while we sip mugs of Belgian ale.

Several hundred feet below the summit of this gentle hill,

tractor trailer rigs headed west on Thirty-Six

push their sounds through the shadows of the cedars,

a deep-throated rumble pressing their own shroud of light

into the night that moves around them.

That is not completely unlike

sitting around a winter’s fire

and speaking of things that matter,

even if the speaking changes none of those things.

We do not talk in order to bring an end to night

but rather to share and shine a warming glow

so that we may know

we do not walk alone

toward this passing darkness.

H. Arnett

2/24/21

Posted in Christian Devotions, Christian Living, Death & Dying, Family, Poetic Contemplations, Poetry, Relationships, Spiritual Contemplation | Tagged , , , , | Comments Off on Talking Toward the Darkness

Things of Glory, Things of Grandeur

I love the grandeur of the mountains,
the glory of the ocean,
the mesmerizing motion and thundering sound of a waterfall.

I love the vastness of the Canyon's carvings,
the massive, smooth moving of a mile-wide river,
the serene scale of primeval forest.

But I find something soothing
in the soft beauty of the shadows of the moon
tracing the shapes of birch branches on the snow.

I marvel at the muted glow of a small town's reflected light
held in the halo of a low sky on a humid night
and the soft crunch beneath my feet as I walk on a gravel street.

But perhaps the things that most captivate me,
that move me to something beyond admiration
are a gentle voice in moments of madness,

a soft touch that can melt away anger,
eyes of sincere affection,
words of genuine appreciation,

and grace that has faced one's own greatest failures,
the deepest hurts from faithless hearts,
and found in forgiving others

the power to forgive oneself.


H. Arnett
2/26/21
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A New Beginning

After four service calls in five weeks for backed up drains, I finally decided it was time for drastic action. Using the sewer cam/locator service to mark a trouble spot, I cut through the tile and concrete floor in the basement laundry room. When I dug down, I found that that particular section of cast iron pipe was so badly corroded that a section of it had completely collapsed. The rest of it seemed poised to follow suit.

I’d already hired a local company to work on the outside line. They’d found a broken line and replaced fifty feet or so of pipe. That seemed to fix the problem but then less than two weeks later the drain backed up again. That’s when we found out about the cast iron corrosion issue underneath the house.

Instead of fixing those problems piecemeal, I decided to do the whole deal. I rented a concrete saw and cut an ell-shaped swath seventy-three feet long and eighteen inches wide through the concrete floor. The thickness varied from four inches to five inches. Next, I rented an electric jackhammer to break up the concrete. Swinging a pickaxe to pry the pieces loose, Randa helped me tear out and cart out a ton-and-a-half of broken chunks.

Then, I set to digging down through the dirt and ended up with a trench that went from fifteen inches deep to just over two feet deep. At some points, I sawed through the old pipe and in other places used a sledgehammer to break it out. The condition of the pipe and fittings at different points confirmed that I was not over-reacting; there were segments in truly wretched condition.

With all of the old pipe removed, I installed new PVC pipe and fittings.

It was with no small satisfaction that I stood for a while, looking at that gleaming white system lying in the clay trench. Gone was all of that hundred-plus-year-old pipe. Gone all of the thick scaled rust and cankered cast iron. Gone all of the years of layered corruption.

There are times for cleaning and scouring, times for repair and spot fixing. But there are other times when you just have to get rid of the present mess and start over. Which is why God took a good long look at the beings he’d created and declared, “I will put a new heart and a new spirit within you.”

I wonder if maybe he stands there for a while, just smiling at the wonderful work he has done within us?

H. Arnett

2/25/21

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Smoky Meetings

We’ve come to quite appreciate this lightweight, portable metal firepit that Sam gave us a few years ago. Whether with guests or for just Randa and me, it’s provided a thoroughly enjoyable focus point for entertaining and conversation. With our continued caution about COVID, it’s been especially useful for outdoor visitations.

Though not quite sufficient for comfortable assembly in the sub-Arctic temperatures we’ve had the past couple of weeks, it serves quite well for the more temperate marks in the above-freezing category. A nice jacket, a chair close to the fire and a good supply of deadstand maple has worked out right well for visiting with a few friends.

Eventually, we hope that vaccinations will bring us a quite welcome return to indoor visitations. But it is not just in the convenience of soft seats and warm walls that relationships are shaped and strengthened. And if for some season we have to adapt more determinedly to incorporate the changes of life, let us be sure that we do so with a view to the things that truly matter. And with greater appreciation.

H. Arnett

2/24/21

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Stronger than Cast Iron

If you’ve ever tried to cut cast iron, even with good quality tools, you probably appreciate how hard the stuff is. If you’ve ever had to deal with hundred-year-old sewer drains, you probably also appreciate how powerful corrosion is.

I was reminded yesterday when I had to cut down through our basement laundry floor to deal more drastically with a recurring drain problem. Finding a section of collapsed cast iron pipe several inches below the concrete explained why we’d had to call the sewer service guys out four times in five weeks.

I fabricated a saddle patch with a length of PVC half-pipe to cover the break and sealed the perimeter with silicone caulking. It’s a temporary fix but it should keep subsoil separate from wastewater for a while. The simple fact is that the whole drain line needs to be replaced sooner rather than later. Even cast iron has a limited useful life. Kept dry, it would last for centuries. Even kept wet and subject to various forces of corrosion from both inside and out, this specimen lasted for just over one century.

True holiness is intended to protect us from corrosive forces in life that wear against our minds and hearts, that seek to break down our souls and spirits. It takes something tougher than cast iron to hold up, something that is continually renewed and strengthened by faith and by God’s own presence within us. The constant refreshing of hope and a powerful, inexplicable love that continues to grow within us.

And in those cases where the corrosion does break through, we have healing grace. And a God who renews what cannot be replaced.

H. Arnett

2/17/21

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A Few Passes on the Planer

Even as planing wood removes defects from an old board, the Lord’s work on our hearts continually shapes us. Continue reading

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Common Sense & Providence

Providence and Common Sense

Gusts of wind topping forty miles an hour

send wisping streams of powdery snow

snaking across the frozen tufts of pasture,

across the bare planks of the deck,

across the winter-caked crusts of mud and gravel

that make up what we have left

of a driveway in January.

By afternoon, the wind chill will be well below zero.

In the dim dawning of such a storm,

small drifts form in the lee of tree trunks,

fence posts, clumps of grass,

and anything else offering a chance

for the slightest break from this lancing.

Down the hill below the house,

Randa’s palomino Foxtrotter,

coarse hair dinged by weeks of winter,

stands in the doorway of the shed,

hindquarters stuck inside toward the hay,

head lifted in the direction of the highway,

ears tilted back but not flattened.

He has learned in his eleven years

that it is good to have something

like a barn or at least a grove of trees

between you and winter’s worst days.

Even the sparrow knows

that some hours are better spent

scratching for seeds beneath the interwoven branches of the thicket

rather than hopping about in the marrow of the storm,

cursing the cold and pining for summer.

The God Who Gives Us Seasons

also gave us Reason.

Or at least has made the offer…

H. Arnett

1/15/21

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