A Green Valley in the Heat of Summer

Posted on August 13, 2019 by Doc Arnett

A bit east of Junction City, Kansas 18 intersects with I-70. That particular junction is about sixteen miles or so southwest of Manhattan. So far as I know, it’s not a spot of any special reputation, just a place where one road runs into another. If you’re traveling east on I-State-Seventy and want to get to the Little Apple, K-18 is probably your best choice.

Toward the middle of a hot August afternoon in Kansas and wanting to make it to Manhattan a bit ahead of a scheduled wedding rehearsal, we took the exit. As we eased to a stop at the end of the uphill ramp, I looked off to the southeast. I’d had no expectation whatsoever for the view that lay before us.

Miles of green valley opened up beyond us. Ripples of trees and pasture spread out between the ridge we were on and the one well off to the east. The ripples of color, shape and texture continued along the opposite ridge and off as far as we could see to the south. Not the usual tones of August in this particular section of the country but it has not been a usual year. Heavy rains flooded many sections of the state throughout May and much of June, with sporadic rains continuing thereafter.

In a more normal year, the seemingly endless stretches of rolling pastures throughout the Flint Hills have tanned and browned by mid-August. Cattle roam for miles searching for shade and green sprigs of grass in the ditches and low spots. Any livestock roaming this year are simply struck with wanderlust.

Not having time for wandering or wondering, we paused for a moment, looking at each other and briefly voicing our surprise. Then we turned north and headed toward the converging of the Republican River and the Smoky Hills River.

It seemed a good day for seeking mergings and the valley lay so rich and promising before us.

H. Arnett
8/13/19

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In Times Such As These

Posted on August 8, 2019 by Doc Arnett

In times such as these
when it seems so easy
to forego all degrees of courtesy,

when it seems there is so much debate
and so little discussion,
when it seems much more the fashion
to charge forward,
words blasting like weapons
rather than serving as instruments of understanding,

when it appears
that we’d rather make clear the distance
rather than build some bridge of connection,
that there is so much yelling
and so little listening.

In times such as these,
might not we try to be
a gentle voice
in which are heard
words of truth spoken in love?

Might not we
hold fast and firm
to the sure ways
of righteousness, peace and hope
without letting go the satin ropes
of decency, dignity and kindness?

It might be good
if we who claim to be Believers
would take the time
to make rather sure
that the lines we are drawing
do not wrongly define
the gospel of the One Who Came
to tear down the wall of separation,
to call all people to repentance,
to bring unity instead of division,
forgiveness instead of vengeance,
salvation instead of damnation,

regardless of nation,
race,
color,
gender,
wealth,
lineage,
or political affiliation.

Who both told and showed
that we should
turn the other cheek,
choose meekness over power,
return good for evil,
endure injustice rather than inflict it,
defend the widow, the poor and the orphan,
give no place to self-righteous hypocrisy,
and forgive even unto seventy-times-seven…

in a single day.

H. Arnett
8/8/19

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Time Worth Spending

Posted on August 1, 2019 by Doc Arnett

Every now and then
in the company of friends
during workday’s transitioning
to evening’s calm ending

I like to sit and listen
catch the glistening meanings
hear the voices of men
who hold dear
the clear values of decency and democracy

Men who believe
that truth should not be hidden
nor words used to confuse understanding
but rather that what is clear and plain
will usually gain a greater respect

And in the final fading
of day’s good light
I like to hear and share words of caring
about what is right and honest
things unafraid of close inspection
nor subject to the whims of election

Things that endure
the pure fire of truth
unsinged even on the fringes
things that leave us better
just for the thinking
things worth living for
and by

H. Arnett
8/1/19

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Home Grown Goodness

Posted on July 26, 2019 by Doc Arnett

It’s been over forty years since I had fresh sweet corn from my own garden. That was in Browns Grove, Kentucky, in the summer of 1976. I planted a quarter acre of everything I could think of and it all grew like crazy. I had yellow squash, zucchini squash, pole beans, bush beans, purple-hulled peas, black-eyed peas, tomatoes, potatoes, and sweet corn. Rows of sweet corn. Buckets full of sweet corn. Piles of sweet corn. Fresh corn on the cob. Cream-style corn, fried in an old, black, cast iron skillet. All kinds of wonderful goodness.

That was my one big garden. I’ve grown tomatoes at a few different places since then but no garden. This year I decided to use my rear-tine tiller to mill up a 15 x 20 section of Bermuda and crab grass in our back yard. Although the grass has apparently forgiven the insult and returned with apparent ambition, I’ve been able to harvest a few clumps of kale, a handful of herbs, several tomatoes, four strawberries and two green beans.

Last night, Randa shared the fourth ear of sweet corn. Although I’ve grilled some mighty fine roastin’ ears over the years and had some decent sweet corn primed up in the microwave, I had plumb near forgotten how delicious truly fresh sweet corn can be. Tender, succulent, juicy and well, sweet! Man, oh, man, that’s some mighty fine eatin’.

It’s a shame and a blessing when a man gets to confessing that he’d actually forgotten how good fresh homegrown corn and tomatoes truly are. Too much time away from a thing and even great memories can start to fade.

It’s not completely unlike a great worship experience or your last heart-raw, honest-to-God, down-on-your-knees, crying-in-your-pillow prayer session. Or a quiet walk-and-talk with the Lord down a dirt road, in a cool forest, or beside a quiet lake.

If such memories have faded, maybe it’s time for us to take God up on that invitation to “taste and see that the Lord is good.” (Psalm 34:8)

H. Arnett
7/26/19

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Mo’ Drama (FaceApp)

Posted on July 19, 2019 by Doc Arnett

So… apparently there’s this deal out there called “FaceApp” or something like that. Supposedly it’s all the rage now with millions and millions of people across the blue planet. Take a picture of your face and then tell your phone how old you want to look and “Whamo!” there you are! Or, there you’ll be. Wanno know what you’ll look like in another twenty, thirty or fifty years? FaceApp will show you and let you show the world. As if there’s not enough unpleasantness in our future already…

Seems that there’s some measure of controversy.

Along with the wonderful humor of getting to see your grown children suddenly look twenty years older than you, there’s the fact that the company that created, owns and maintains the app is located in Russia. There was a time when that fact alone would make every decent red, white, and blue-blooded American run for the nearest fallout shelter. Not so much anymore. Russian? Well, cool, let’s shake hands, share some vodka and borscht, and then go interrogate some would-be defectors. And by the way, we’re really sorry about all those nasty things our intelligence agents and military generals keep saying about you.

Is the app a sinister espionage scheme whereby the Ruskies are sneaking around inside millions of phones and swiping all the information you’re stored in there? Or is it just a semi-harmless bit of entertainment whereby a company collects a few billion pictures, makes a ton of money and amuses itself by creating complex algorithms to predict the effects of aging on facial features?

Beats me.

There’s hardly anything anymore that can’t be easily manipulated into the next colossal digital argument and battleground. We live in an age when people deliberately fabricate claims and stories that can be instantaneously spread across the planet, lapped up and spread even further by minds consumed by their own prejudices, fears and hate. Trying to ferret out the truth takes time we don’t have and effort we don’t want to give. Far easier to believe what we want to believe.

It would be nice to think that FaceApp is just another element of instant entertainment with enough associated advertising to make some rich folks even wealthier. As for me, I’m just going to leave it be.

As the good Lord said, “Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof.” I don’t need to add anything to this day’s stress, worries, cares and apprehensions. It’ll bring enough of its own without me having to create more. There’ll be enough bad stuff actually happen that it doesn’t make sense for me to add to that with the unpleasantness of what could happen.

And besides, I can already see what I’m going to look like when I get old; I have a mirror.

H. Arnett
7/19/19

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Perhaps for Today

Posted on July 18, 2019 by Doc Arnett

Perhaps for today
I could believe
that all of the good that I need
I will receive,

that I will find
whatever grace
it takes to face
whatever trials take place,

that the love I crave
I will find
by giving it away
to the lost or lonely,

that the kindness
that binds up the broken
and heals the hurting
will find its beginning within me,

that the faith
that moves mountains
will break the stones
inside my heart,

that I will do my part
to be a blessing
to the least of these
who are also made in the image of God,

who also crave
good,
grace,
love,
kindness,
faith.

Perhaps for today
I could treat others
as I would have them
treat me.

H. Arnett
7/18/19

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Out of the Blue

Posted on July 17, 2019 by Doc Arnett

There was nothing in the forecast yesterday morning about rain or storms or such but the sky I saw forming when I stepped outside around three-thirty yesterday afternoon sure suggested both and that right soon. Clouds darkened the whole of the western sky and much of the southern as well. Majestic but threatening, layers rose up from the horizon, spreading toward the east and on the hunt so to speak.

Within five minutes, a push of wind was sending a cloud of dust ahead of the storm. I later heard that dust wall was so thick and dark a bit south of us that it forced traffic to stop on US-77 between Newkirk and Ponca City. Here in Ark City it merely imitated the look of heavy rain a mile away. In about thirty minutes, the imitation gave way to the real thing.

It wasn’t nearly as hard as the rain that came a couple of weeks ago. Nor did it last as long. In fact, the official measuring station that is located a few miles north at Strother Field recorded less than a tenth of an inch. We might have had a bit more than that here but I have no ready means of proof or evidence to that effect. Of course, given how things seem to work these days, I suppose I could claim we had an inch-and-a-half of rain and then ridicule and vilify anyone who disagrees with me as it certainly seems that making the claim automatically refutes any amount of evidence to the contrary.

However, this not being sufficient cause for such action I believe I’ll just accept the official report, mutter something like “Well, it seemed like more than that,” and let it go, at least for now. No matter how much or how little rain we had, we certainly had rain and it came without the customary notice from the National Weather Service.

We have engineered sophisticated formulas, modeling patterns, algorithms, and fabricated multi-million dollar pieces of equipment. We have flown above and into hurricanes and tempted the strength of tornadoes. And even yet we find that sometimes storms, economic spikes and crashes, and digestive afflictions as well, sometimes come up on us with much less warning than we expected.

And though that is often unpleasant and sometimes downright embarrassing, it is not altogether unfortunate that we occasionally be reminded of how weak we are and how much in this world is not within our control.

H. Arnett
7/17/19

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Easy Alternatives

Posted on July 16, 2019 by Doc Arnett

There are some things I do because I simply enjoy doing them. Eating Oreo cookies would fall squarely into that category. So would cabinet-making and doing crossword puzzles. There are a few other things I could add to that list but in order to save space and preserve some illusion of respectability, we’ll let it go at that.

One thing that does not go on that list is mowing the yard. I don’t push that cheap little grass grazing device of mine around the yard because I enjoy doing it. I mow the yard because it has to be mowed. I mow the yard because I don’t want the neighbors to think I’m a lazy, degenerate fink who has no pride, self-respect or any sense of neighborly consideration. It would be an exaggeration to say I hate mowing the yard. It would not, however, be prevarication of congressional magnitude.

My lack of enthusiasm for mowing the yard gives me a genuine disdain for “water grass.” I have no idea what it’s properly called; that’s what my dear ole daddy called it so that’s what I call it.

The blades are very soft, the color is rich and in hot, wet weather, it grows as if fueled by steroids and meth. All exaggeration aside, to keep a well-kept appearance in the weather we’ve had this summer, I’d have to mow the stuff every three days. It is so thick and well, watery, that it constantly plugs the discharge chute on the mower and sticks like wet cement to the mower housing. But… it sure feels good to walk over with bare feet and makes a fine-looking yard from the street for the first few hours after it’s mowed.

Like a few other things in my life, I put up with it because getting rid of it and replacing it with something better would be a lot of work. Sometimes what we pretend is tolerance is really just some appreciable degree of laziness. In our back yards and in our society, we sometimes convince ourselves that the fight just isn’t worth it. And so we keep mowing the confounded water grass, wishing we had a nice thick sod of bluegrass.

And consoling ourselves with the comforting deception, “Well, at least it’s grass and not thistles.”

Not yet, it’s not. But if we keep choosing the easy alternatives—in our own lives and in our culture—we will find that the thistles are not only coming, they’re taking over.

H. Arnett
7/16/19

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Resting in the Shadows of the Moon

Posted on July 15, 2019 by Doc Arnett

By the time I finished taking all the tools
out of the truck and putting them in the garage,
dusk had largely given way to dark.

We’d postponed supper
in order to finish the project we’d started
the day before and driving home
I’d noticed a nearly full moon
in a very clear sky
on a night not nearly as hot as some in July.
And so I suggested we eat on the deck
and watch the moon.

While I was setting up the chairs
I realized that the neighbor’s huge oak tree
stood there between us and any soon view.

But I also knew
that the night was pleasant
and I’ve had worse reasons for staying up late
and waiting a while for something good is good practice.

And so we ate our sandwiches,
tilted back our lounge chairs,
and kept staring at the stars
and talking about riding on open range,
the way things can change between friends,
and how even the happenstance
of our own undesired importunities
gives others the chance
to show love, do good, and lay up treasure
that is not measured in ounces
and does not decrease in value.

And, bit by bit, the moon kept moving
through the dark branches
and soon enough—even though late—
we were sitting with the bright moon full on our faces,
absorbed in the grace of a quiet summer night
and grateful to be touched by the Light
that does not fade in the phases of our lives.

H. Arnett
7/15/19

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A Mighty Fine Morning

Posted on July 12, 2019 by Doc Arnett

For about a week or so, it has seemed that the air barely cooled off during the night. At seven in the morning, the temperature was already nudging eighty degrees, and ready to get higher in a hurry it seemed. Going out on these muggy mornings with heat index warnings in the triple digits was about as much fun as putting on wet socks.

But this morning, oh what a fine difference!

Even though we may be headed toward hot later, right now it’s only sixty-two. Yes, there’s a heavy dew and the humidity is at ninety percent, but, hey, it’s only sixty-two. It’s a sit on the porch and drink coffee kind of morning. A let’s take our time and wait for the sun to shine kind of start to a fine Friday.

There’ll be plenty enough rushing later on. What’s the point of the Lord sending such blessings if we can’t take time to notice, give thanks and take at least a few minutes to think about cool mornings, ripe tomatoes and good coffee?

Did I mention that it’s only sixty-two degrees this morning right here in south central Kansas and almost smack dab in the middle of July? No matter what else is going on or is to come later today, right now, I will be thankful for this. And enjoy it a bit, too.

H. Arnett
7/12/19

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