Last Tuesday I got notice that our stake needed volunteer helping hands to go to New Orleans to help with flood cleanup this past weekend. I adjusted things around to go and was able to find a ride with some other brothers going down. I gathered my camping gear and tools, and packed some food, and left Tryn to deal with the various activities of the children for the weekend.
We left Friday about 2:45 and got to LaPlace, LA about 11:15 pm Central time and set up our tents on the lawn behind the church. Up early on Saturday, we put in a full day's work - our group did four work orders that day.
Essentially we went into houses and gutted them from the floor up to four feet up the wall. The water had reached up to 4 feet in the houses, and in the streets it had submerged and ruined thousands of vehicles.
We took out of the house carpeting, flooring, wall board, insulation, cabinets, appliances, etc. In some houses we also had to take out furniture and all their personal belongings. We piled everything on the yard by the curb for the trucks to haul away. The walls were moldy, the carpet was wet with 2-3 week of old water, and the air stank. We wore mold-protecting masks.
Along the streets, at house after house, neighborhood after neighborhood, there were piles of these families' every worldy possession, things they had accumulated and treasured over a lifetime. As we drove between work orders, we talked about how much care we put into selecting so many purchases - the new sofa, the appliances, etc. In the end, all the stuff was lost. We wondered if you would start purchasing cheaper stuff, and just make do with it.
A single mother we helped had been renting and had a short deadline to get everything out so the landlord could get crews working on the house. She was weeping, having lost everything; she seemed particularly concerned about the family pictures. And she didn't have renters insurance. The house was absolutlely revolting. It seemed the house hadn't been opened since the storm, and the stench was almost unbearable, with mold halfway up the walls staining the birthday cards and other memorabilia the girls had taped to their walls. We sloshed through sodden carpets, loaded books slippery and fuzzy with mildew, ruined clothing, bedding, dishes and everything else into wheelbarrows and dumped it on the curb. As we worked, an amazing thing happened. This woman began to smile and reminisce and talk with her daughters. It seemed that we had relieved a huge load for her just by dealing with that overwhelming task of cleaning out the stuff of her life. She had her daughters, and the sun was shining, and she could bear to face another day.
One lady said she had been through this four times in various homes, but for most of the people we helped it was the first time. Their area had never flooded before. They might have lost some shingles in previous hurricanes, but hadn't been hit like New Orleans. It seems that when the flood walls were built after Katrina to protect New Orleans, they did what they were supposed to do. They diverted the water and so spared New Orleans to some great extent from Isaac. Instead, the walls forced all that water upriver to the other parishes that hadn't previously been in flood zones. One guy told me that if they were to now come and protect his parish with walls, it would just push the flooding further up to other parishes, and that wasn't right.
Someone (engineers, politicians anyone?) must have known that building the walls might have this effect, but they either discounted the importance, or were overruled by someone else. If they were simply ignorant of the impact, they weren't doing their full job, but if they consciously diverted the devastation, I'd like to know what calculus of value they used to justify it.
It made me think of the numerous effects of various actions and policies we take as individuals and organizations. And I thought how careful we must be in our decisions and policies. There are almost always unintended consequences to every policy, even well-intentioned ones. And too often the people hurt are unrelated to the policy or action and had no say in the first place. Examples of negative unintended consequences are rife in public policy, where policy makers think they can "fix" problems while failing to understand or acknowledge the ramifications of their own plans. Then they monkey with things again to fix the fix and we have an unending cycle of bureaucrats playing God, only without the omniscience nor the perfect benevolence. That's why I belive in free markets, where millions of individuals make their own choices.
The unintended consequences occur with these decisions also, but generally there's no pretense or propaganda about how this master policy is for the general good of the society. Even in our own personal and familial decisions we can't contain all the impacts. The best we can do is to try to weigh the decisions with as much foresight and wisdom as we can, and then seek God's guidance and follow it. Then we rely on his tender mercies and the grace of our Savior that all things will work together for our good.
Sunday morning we had a brief sacrament meeting for the hundreds of volunteers there. We were all in yellow "helping hands" t-shirts, and a friend remarked to me, "People tell me they think Mormons all look alike, but I just don't know what they mean." We praised our Heavenly Father in hymns and prayers, and partook of the holy sacrament. Then the parish president thanked us, and one brother gave about a five minute talk.
He quoted a modern-day prophet to the effect that today we aren't called to cross the plains as our pioneer forbears were, but we are called to cross the street, and share the good news of the gospel with our neighbors and render service to those in need.
He told how a lady had come into the parking lot Saturday morning after we had all left with our work orders. She got out of her car, but didn't approach anybody. Instead she stood in the middle of the parking lot, saying in a loud voice, "Thank you. Thank you all," and praising God. Someone approached her to ask if she needed help, and she said that we had already helped her, and offered thanks that we were helping her neighbors.
At the end of the service we bowed our heads in a benediction, and then went back to work. I kept praying that God would pour out His tender mercies on the residents stricken by the disaster, and that they would recognize and acknowledge His beneficent and protecting hand.
Half our crew had left Saturday night, and most of the rest left about 10 am Sunday, so the remaining four of us did as much as we could on the last house assigned to us until 12:45, then went back to the church and packed our tents and the truck. The drive home was long and we arrived very late, but the familiar streets of our home town were a welcome sight to me. Even more welcome was the light on in the master bedroom window as we drove up to my house.
It was an exhausting, draining weekend, both physically and emotionally, but it was also very filling and renewing spiritually.
Before retiring to sleep on Friday, I read in Alma 29, where Alma cries:
"O that I were an angel, and could have the wish of mine heart, that I might go forth and speak with the trump of God, with a voice to shake the earth, and cry repentance unto every people! Yea, I would declare unto every soul that they should repent and come unto our God, that there might not be more sorrow upon all the face of the earth."
Driving down the streets of neighborhoods where people had lost so much, I was struck that even repentance won't remove all sorrow. In this life we are bound to experience our share of sadness and pain. But then I thought that the Savior took upon Himself our sorrows as well as our sins, and can succor us in our grief for both.
I kept thinking of the scripture in Psalms 30: "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." And I give thanks for the tender mercies of a perfectly loving and omniscient God, and the faith that all things work together for good to them that love and serve Him.
Monday, September 17, 2012
Sunday, September 12, 2010
All Creatures Great and Small
Last Sunday morning, I stood with my daughter looking down from the back deck to where Chloe, our family dog, was pawing at something in the grass. It appeared to be a baby mouse. I'm not sentimental about small rodents, but I don't like the idea of it being tormented, so I went down to call off the dog.
Chloe, although she is an Irish Setter, a sport dog, has never been trained for hunting. She is really very good natured, and in this case seemed to be curious more than anything else. But she was likely to kill the little thing with her paws just by trying to turn it over to see what it was.
It turned out to be not a mouse, but a baby squirrel. Part of a nest was next to it, and it appeared to have fallen about twenty feet from the tree above. It never occurred to me before that squirrels had nests in trees. I guess I never even wondered where they lived. I assumed they lived in holes in the ground, and some apparently do. But those in my yard must be tree squirrels, which live in football sized nests called dreys. Now that I know that, I recognize that I've seen several of those nests in my yard but not recognized them for their real inhabitants. Doesn't say much for my curiosity about nature or even my own surroundings, I guess.
I pulled Chloe away and shut her in the garage temporarily. Then I took a plastic garden hand shovel and picked up the little thing. I didn't want to touch it out of concern its mother might reject it. My son tells me that's a myth debunked by MythBusters, and I really wasn't confident the mother was going to come find it anyway. But I was trying to be compassionate. Problem is, I have no idea what to do for a baby squirrel, let alone this one that seemed to have hardly opened its eyes yet. It had fallen, been poked and scratched by a dog, and was likely going to die of hunger or thirst, if the local hawk didn't get it first. Not thinking I could do any better for it, I moved it out of reach of the dog and set it in the shade of a rock on the off chance its mother might find it.
Then we went to church.
By the time we got home, my daughter had told my sons all about it, along with her friends and teacher at church. She and one of the boys went out and found it in the yard (it had apparently crawled back in reach of the dog). They rescued it, put it in a box, and brought it in the house and pleaded with me to save its life.
We've already established that I didn't know what to do. In addition, I wasn't excited about another squirrel in my yard. Those we already have got all my peaches again this year. In spite of all my precautions and preventative measures, I didn't get a single peach off either of my trees. They did stay on the tree a couple weeks longer than last year, but that's a meaningless success in the scope of this effort. So between the peaches and how the squirrels eat all the bird seed in our feeder, I'm not particularly fond of squirrels.
"But it's going to die, Dad! We have to save it." "Look how cute it is." And alright, it was kind of cute.
"How can we save it, Dad?" Somehow my "I don't know" only made them more desperate. They moped and pleaded and brainstormed. And, unknown to me until later, one of my sons went to his mother and asked her to pray with him for help to save the little critter.
Not long after that my daughter went across the street to show it to her friend, and the friend's mother just happened to overhear and just happened to have some lady friends visiting, one of whom just happened to have saved a couple baby squirrels herself and had researched how to care for them.
Coincidence? Only if coincidence means circumstances arranged in advance by an all-knowing God to allow help to appear when we ask for it.
So the children had a plan, some knowledge, and we had acquired a new pet. And some new wisdom and greater faith in our Heavenly Father's attention to the prayers of His children.
It's been a week now, and our youngest son has been incredibly responsible in caring for this little creature. He feeds it on a regular schedule, even setting his alarm to wake up in the middle of the night for a scheduled feeding. And the squirrel is thriving. It's become the center of attention when anyone comes over. And it has provided some rewarding learning and growing experiences for us all. It's still a squirrel, and I may regret this all next summer when my peaches are disappearing. But there's something wonderful about the innocence of my children and their love for God's creatures.
All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.
-Cecil Frances Alexander
Chloe, although she is an Irish Setter, a sport dog, has never been trained for hunting. She is really very good natured, and in this case seemed to be curious more than anything else. But she was likely to kill the little thing with her paws just by trying to turn it over to see what it was.
It turned out to be not a mouse, but a baby squirrel. Part of a nest was next to it, and it appeared to have fallen about twenty feet from the tree above. It never occurred to me before that squirrels had nests in trees. I guess I never even wondered where they lived. I assumed they lived in holes in the ground, and some apparently do. But those in my yard must be tree squirrels, which live in football sized nests called dreys. Now that I know that, I recognize that I've seen several of those nests in my yard but not recognized them for their real inhabitants. Doesn't say much for my curiosity about nature or even my own surroundings, I guess.
I pulled Chloe away and shut her in the garage temporarily. Then I took a plastic garden hand shovel and picked up the little thing. I didn't want to touch it out of concern its mother might reject it. My son tells me that's a myth debunked by MythBusters, and I really wasn't confident the mother was going to come find it anyway. But I was trying to be compassionate. Problem is, I have no idea what to do for a baby squirrel, let alone this one that seemed to have hardly opened its eyes yet. It had fallen, been poked and scratched by a dog, and was likely going to die of hunger or thirst, if the local hawk didn't get it first. Not thinking I could do any better for it, I moved it out of reach of the dog and set it in the shade of a rock on the off chance its mother might find it.
Then we went to church.
By the time we got home, my daughter had told my sons all about it, along with her friends and teacher at church. She and one of the boys went out and found it in the yard (it had apparently crawled back in reach of the dog). They rescued it, put it in a box, and brought it in the house and pleaded with me to save its life.
We've already established that I didn't know what to do. In addition, I wasn't excited about another squirrel in my yard. Those we already have got all my peaches again this year. In spite of all my precautions and preventative measures, I didn't get a single peach off either of my trees. They did stay on the tree a couple weeks longer than last year, but that's a meaningless success in the scope of this effort. So between the peaches and how the squirrels eat all the bird seed in our feeder, I'm not particularly fond of squirrels.
"But it's going to die, Dad! We have to save it." "Look how cute it is." And alright, it was kind of cute.
"How can we save it, Dad?" Somehow my "I don't know" only made them more desperate. They moped and pleaded and brainstormed. And, unknown to me until later, one of my sons went to his mother and asked her to pray with him for help to save the little critter.
Not long after that my daughter went across the street to show it to her friend, and the friend's mother just happened to overhear and just happened to have some lady friends visiting, one of whom just happened to have saved a couple baby squirrels herself and had researched how to care for them.
Coincidence? Only if coincidence means circumstances arranged in advance by an all-knowing God to allow help to appear when we ask for it.
So the children had a plan, some knowledge, and we had acquired a new pet. And some new wisdom and greater faith in our Heavenly Father's attention to the prayers of His children.
It's been a week now, and our youngest son has been incredibly responsible in caring for this little creature. He feeds it on a regular schedule, even setting his alarm to wake up in the middle of the night for a scheduled feeding. And the squirrel is thriving. It's become the center of attention when anyone comes over. And it has provided some rewarding learning and growing experiences for us all. It's still a squirrel, and I may regret this all next summer when my peaches are disappearing. But there's something wonderful about the innocence of my children and their love for God's creatures.
All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.
-Cecil Frances Alexander
Saturday, July 10, 2010
A Serpent in the Garden
"Daddy, Daddy, there's a snake on the front porch!"
Not exactly the thing you want to hear your young daughter scream hysterically on an otherwise peaceful, sunny Saturday morning.
Sidebar. Is there anything you want to hear her scream hysterically, ever? Maybe that she's getting married to a guy you approve of when she's somewhere in her mid twenties?
I hate snakes. In fact, I can't think of anything I like about them. Maybe that Moses held up a serpent as a symbol of the Savior, but beyond that . . .
But dads have to be tough, and have to protect their families, so out I go. Sure enough, there's a very long black snake wrapped into the branches of the shrub just outside our front door.
Here's the extent of my knowledge of snakes: Some of them are poisonous, some of them are not. Some of the non-venomous ones are still lethal. I don't know how to tell the difference, unless I see or hear a rattle. Yup, that's pretty much it. And no rattle on this one.
Somewhere along the line I got the idea that I should respect all life and only kill it if absolutely necessary. I think Joseph Smith made that point during the Zion's Camp march. In fact, I believe the animal in question was even a snake. But, see, I sometimes have this problem with black and white vs. gray.
I go to the garage (through the house, not on the sidewalk past the shrub) and get a shovel and a pitchfork and a plastic storage bucket. I'm thinking I'll try to catch it and then take it somewhere far away and let it go.
I know, I know. That's black and white when the circumstances call for gray.
So I poke it with the shovel to get it out of the bush, and it starts slithering through the garden while I try to get the shovel under it and flip it up into the plastic box. When it stretches out, it's well over five feet long.
I know: Stupid. And remember, I said I don't know which ones are dangerous.
It gets around a taller bush and starts sliding along the top of a retaining wall on the side of the house. My adrenaline is rushing, and I'm worried it's getting away. I race around below the wall and it's now slinking off the wall into a bush below.
New piece of information about snakes. They climb trees. And not just the pythons like in The Jungle Book movie.
Now it's out of the bush and gliding through the too-tall grass in the back yard which the boys have procrastinated cutting. I'm throwing the box on its side in front of it now, trying to steer it into the box with no success. I poke at it with the shovel. It rears up and hisses. Did I already mention adrenaline? Times ten. I'm in a battle now, and keenly aware of my mortality. And there's my daughter standing on the hill watching me. I'm beginning to think this was all a very bad idea. I should have known better than to tangle with a snake.
But I'm thinking of my kids playing in this yard, and their friends coming over, and I'm not about to leave something potentially lethal like this back there. So back into the fray. Probe and feint, block it's path with the box and the shovel. It's a frenetic, dangerous dance. And then I have a clear shot. Out goes the shovel. And up. And I have it hanging over the end. Drop it in the box and slap the lid on.
And take a deep breath. And another. Drink in the relief.
Now what to do with it? I don't want to just pick it up and carry it. The fit of the lid doesn't inspire that much confidence. Get the wheelbarrow. Quickly lift the box into the barrow. Take some more deep breaths. Reassure my daughter that everything's all right. And no, she can't go get all her friends to come over. And then . . .
A slippery, scaly head between the box and the lid. And before I know it, 12-15 inches also out. What to do now? Block it with the shovel? Too late! It's out. And racing for the back end of the yard and the creek. I can't let it get away to return whenever it wants. Immediately black and white is applied to a different problem. Now it's life and death and protection. I'm done playing. This thing is going down, and fast, before it can get to the creek.
Wham! I bring the shovel head down on it just behind the head to little effect. Of course, the grass is very muddy and it's a square shovel. Angle the shovel and strike again! It's slowed. Again! It's now badly damaged but still not dead.
It's definitely time for those French drains in the back yard. Can't be having this squishy ground when I need a firm surface to catch the blade of my makeshift guillotine.
Now lifting it into the box is a little easier. It's not trying to get away. Box in the wheelbarrow, push it up the hill back to the front yard. Not sure I want to dump it out again to sever the head completely. Frozen with indecision.
Not so my daughter. She sees a friend a couple doors up the road and runs to get him to come see. Looking after her I see my next door neighbor and figure he might know more about snakes than I do. I go over and ask him to come ID the thing. He says it's a Black snake, not poisonous, but he always kills them. "Do you find them often?" I ask. Often enough. He always tosses the carcass into the creek for the resident hawk to feast on. But he agrees this is a big one.
The kids are here and wanting to look at it and he suggests I quickly chop the head off, but don't let the kids watch. So I send them away for a bit. Dump the snake from the box, take the regular shovel, and off with its head. Neighbor was right. The kids might have been creeped out to see the snake keep twitching and writhing even without a head.
All that's left now is the cleanup. Toss it on the side of the creek bed. Kind of hard to aim five feet of swaying muscle. It didn't land where I wanted; I'm not sure the hawk will be able to see it. But nothing I can do without wading down into the weeds and grasses, and I'm not about to walk into that danger zone right after finishing this battle. There are limits to my stupidity.
Flash forward a few weeks. I always eye that bush by the front porch when I walk out. I'm aware of various places in the yard where similar threats might lurk. I wish to be blissfully unaware again of the potential dangers in my good spot of ground, but can't fully block them out of my thoughts.
I'm reminded of other dangers that lurk and invade our gardens and homes. I realize I'm somewhat ignorant of them as well, and perhaps not properly equipped to fight and expel them should they appear in my Eden. I try to build walls, but I'm conscious that serpents are cunning, and can find ways through, around, and under any walls I build. Still I try to build them.
And I'm ever more aware of the need to rely on my Heavenly Father and my Savior. After all, they banished the serpent with their power. And though he has power to bruise our heels, we can have power to crush his head. The Savior has overcome death, and His miraculous power can protect His followers from even the serpent's venom.
So I must tend my garden, and tame it. And prepare it--and myself--that I may walk with Him in the garden in the cool of the day. In His garden.
Not exactly the thing you want to hear your young daughter scream hysterically on an otherwise peaceful, sunny Saturday morning.
Sidebar. Is there anything you want to hear her scream hysterically, ever? Maybe that she's getting married to a guy you approve of when she's somewhere in her mid twenties?
I hate snakes. In fact, I can't think of anything I like about them. Maybe that Moses held up a serpent as a symbol of the Savior, but beyond that . . .
But dads have to be tough, and have to protect their families, so out I go. Sure enough, there's a very long black snake wrapped into the branches of the shrub just outside our front door.
Here's the extent of my knowledge of snakes: Some of them are poisonous, some of them are not. Some of the non-venomous ones are still lethal. I don't know how to tell the difference, unless I see or hear a rattle. Yup, that's pretty much it. And no rattle on this one.
Somewhere along the line I got the idea that I should respect all life and only kill it if absolutely necessary. I think Joseph Smith made that point during the Zion's Camp march. In fact, I believe the animal in question was even a snake. But, see, I sometimes have this problem with black and white vs. gray.
I go to the garage (through the house, not on the sidewalk past the shrub) and get a shovel and a pitchfork and a plastic storage bucket. I'm thinking I'll try to catch it and then take it somewhere far away and let it go.
I know, I know. That's black and white when the circumstances call for gray.
So I poke it with the shovel to get it out of the bush, and it starts slithering through the garden while I try to get the shovel under it and flip it up into the plastic box. When it stretches out, it's well over five feet long.
I know: Stupid. And remember, I said I don't know which ones are dangerous.
It gets around a taller bush and starts sliding along the top of a retaining wall on the side of the house. My adrenaline is rushing, and I'm worried it's getting away. I race around below the wall and it's now slinking off the wall into a bush below.
New piece of information about snakes. They climb trees. And not just the pythons like in The Jungle Book movie.
Now it's out of the bush and gliding through the too-tall grass in the back yard which the boys have procrastinated cutting. I'm throwing the box on its side in front of it now, trying to steer it into the box with no success. I poke at it with the shovel. It rears up and hisses. Did I already mention adrenaline? Times ten. I'm in a battle now, and keenly aware of my mortality. And there's my daughter standing on the hill watching me. I'm beginning to think this was all a very bad idea. I should have known better than to tangle with a snake.
But I'm thinking of my kids playing in this yard, and their friends coming over, and I'm not about to leave something potentially lethal like this back there. So back into the fray. Probe and feint, block it's path with the box and the shovel. It's a frenetic, dangerous dance. And then I have a clear shot. Out goes the shovel. And up. And I have it hanging over the end. Drop it in the box and slap the lid on.
And take a deep breath. And another. Drink in the relief.
Now what to do with it? I don't want to just pick it up and carry it. The fit of the lid doesn't inspire that much confidence. Get the wheelbarrow. Quickly lift the box into the barrow. Take some more deep breaths. Reassure my daughter that everything's all right. And no, she can't go get all her friends to come over. And then . . .
A slippery, scaly head between the box and the lid. And before I know it, 12-15 inches also out. What to do now? Block it with the shovel? Too late! It's out. And racing for the back end of the yard and the creek. I can't let it get away to return whenever it wants. Immediately black and white is applied to a different problem. Now it's life and death and protection. I'm done playing. This thing is going down, and fast, before it can get to the creek.
Wham! I bring the shovel head down on it just behind the head to little effect. Of course, the grass is very muddy and it's a square shovel. Angle the shovel and strike again! It's slowed. Again! It's now badly damaged but still not dead.
It's definitely time for those French drains in the back yard. Can't be having this squishy ground when I need a firm surface to catch the blade of my makeshift guillotine.
Now lifting it into the box is a little easier. It's not trying to get away. Box in the wheelbarrow, push it up the hill back to the front yard. Not sure I want to dump it out again to sever the head completely. Frozen with indecision.
Not so my daughter. She sees a friend a couple doors up the road and runs to get him to come see. Looking after her I see my next door neighbor and figure he might know more about snakes than I do. I go over and ask him to come ID the thing. He says it's a Black snake, not poisonous, but he always kills them. "Do you find them often?" I ask. Often enough. He always tosses the carcass into the creek for the resident hawk to feast on. But he agrees this is a big one.
The kids are here and wanting to look at it and he suggests I quickly chop the head off, but don't let the kids watch. So I send them away for a bit. Dump the snake from the box, take the regular shovel, and off with its head. Neighbor was right. The kids might have been creeped out to see the snake keep twitching and writhing even without a head.
All that's left now is the cleanup. Toss it on the side of the creek bed. Kind of hard to aim five feet of swaying muscle. It didn't land where I wanted; I'm not sure the hawk will be able to see it. But nothing I can do without wading down into the weeds and grasses, and I'm not about to walk into that danger zone right after finishing this battle. There are limits to my stupidity.
Flash forward a few weeks. I always eye that bush by the front porch when I walk out. I'm aware of various places in the yard where similar threats might lurk. I wish to be blissfully unaware again of the potential dangers in my good spot of ground, but can't fully block them out of my thoughts.
I'm reminded of other dangers that lurk and invade our gardens and homes. I realize I'm somewhat ignorant of them as well, and perhaps not properly equipped to fight and expel them should they appear in my Eden. I try to build walls, but I'm conscious that serpents are cunning, and can find ways through, around, and under any walls I build. Still I try to build them.
And I'm ever more aware of the need to rely on my Heavenly Father and my Savior. After all, they banished the serpent with their power. And though he has power to bruise our heels, we can have power to crush his head. The Savior has overcome death, and His miraculous power can protect His followers from even the serpent's venom.
So I must tend my garden, and tame it. And prepare it--and myself--that I may walk with Him in the garden in the cool of the day. In His garden.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Wick
When a thing is wick, it has a life about it.
Now, maybe not a life like you and me.
But somewhere there's a single streak of green inside it.
Come, and let me show you what I mean.
--from The Secret Garden (lyrics by Marsha Norman)
A week after planting my strawberries in starter pots (and plastic cups) I found myself looking for signs of life. The ones I planted in the cups (first batch) mostly had green leaves when I planted them. The ones I put in the bio-degradable pots (second batch) with Miracle-Gro potting soil, on the other hand, were an exercise in hope. They looked pretty far gone. And after a week, there were no signs of life in them.
The ones in the plastic cups, on the other hand, had changed dramatically. They had seemingly died.
I attributed that to the soil and to the container, which didn't let air in or water out. I went through them carefully looking for any signs of life-a live leaf, a shoot of green, even some fuzz that didn't seem to be too brown. Those that offered hope I transplanted into the bio-degradable pots with the Miracle-Gro, replacing the plants that clearly were beyond saving. I tried to shake off all the inferior soil and replant them carefully to give them the best chance of life.
In the end, I trashed all the second batch (put them in the compost, actually) and re-potted all the first batch, even though some of them showed little or no sign of life. Eight of them looked to survive, while the rest were again an exercise in hope.
Each day I checked them, watered them if needed, and looked for that single streak of green. Now after a week four or five more are wick, and I'm giving the others a chance to prove themselves. I eagerly look forward to checking them every day, amazed at the miracle of life within them, astounded that they have come back from seeming death.
It's kind of that way with people. Now and then I run into people who seem to be zombies-the living dead. They have a pulse, they hold down a job, they even smile from time to time. But the signs of life are weak. Perhaps they've been beaten into submission by the circumstances of their lives or by others around them who have slowly-or even all at once-drained the life out of them. Perhaps they've made destructive choices, betrayed the divinity within them.
What they don't seem to have is purpose, direction, hope, faith.
And yet, if you look closely enough, over a period of time, nurturing and caring for them with friendly interactions and supportive words and deeds, you may just catch a fleeting glimpse of green inside and realize that they are wick after all.
When a thing is wick, it has a light around it.
Maybe not a light that you can see.
But hiding down below a spark's asleep inside it,
Waiting for the right time to be seen.
If you care to, and if they permit you, you can help clear away the dead things and nurse them back to life. It isn't always easy, and not every one revives, but when they do, it's one of the most rewarding experiences I've ever had.
When we engage in that kind of gardening, we are doing God's work, and He can provide a joy that passes understanding. If we are wick with that light, we may gain Eternal Life.
Now, maybe not a life like you and me.
But somewhere there's a single streak of green inside it.
Come, and let me show you what I mean.
--from The Secret Garden (lyrics by Marsha Norman)
A week after planting my strawberries in starter pots (and plastic cups) I found myself looking for signs of life. The ones I planted in the cups (first batch) mostly had green leaves when I planted them. The ones I put in the bio-degradable pots (second batch) with Miracle-Gro potting soil, on the other hand, were an exercise in hope. They looked pretty far gone. And after a week, there were no signs of life in them.
The ones in the plastic cups, on the other hand, had changed dramatically. They had seemingly died.
I attributed that to the soil and to the container, which didn't let air in or water out. I went through them carefully looking for any signs of life-a live leaf, a shoot of green, even some fuzz that didn't seem to be too brown. Those that offered hope I transplanted into the bio-degradable pots with the Miracle-Gro, replacing the plants that clearly were beyond saving. I tried to shake off all the inferior soil and replant them carefully to give them the best chance of life.
In the end, I trashed all the second batch (put them in the compost, actually) and re-potted all the first batch, even though some of them showed little or no sign of life. Eight of them looked to survive, while the rest were again an exercise in hope.
Each day I checked them, watered them if needed, and looked for that single streak of green. Now after a week four or five more are wick, and I'm giving the others a chance to prove themselves. I eagerly look forward to checking them every day, amazed at the miracle of life within them, astounded that they have come back from seeming death.
It's kind of that way with people. Now and then I run into people who seem to be zombies-the living dead. They have a pulse, they hold down a job, they even smile from time to time. But the signs of life are weak. Perhaps they've been beaten into submission by the circumstances of their lives or by others around them who have slowly-or even all at once-drained the life out of them. Perhaps they've made destructive choices, betrayed the divinity within them.
What they don't seem to have is purpose, direction, hope, faith.
And yet, if you look closely enough, over a period of time, nurturing and caring for them with friendly interactions and supportive words and deeds, you may just catch a fleeting glimpse of green inside and realize that they are wick after all.
When a thing is wick, it has a light around it.
Maybe not a light that you can see.
But hiding down below a spark's asleep inside it,
Waiting for the right time to be seen.
If you care to, and if they permit you, you can help clear away the dead things and nurse them back to life. It isn't always easy, and not every one revives, but when they do, it's one of the most rewarding experiences I've ever had.
When we engage in that kind of gardening, we are doing God's work, and He can provide a joy that passes understanding. If we are wick with that light, we may gain Eternal Life.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Berry Late
I finally got my strawberries planted. Well, at least in starter pots. I ordered the berries from a mail order nursery, because the write-ups in the online catalog made these varieties seem much better than those available at local stores. And the price was appealing.
We had strawberries in Utah, when we lived there, but they were a small variety, and not very firm. They produced plentifully, but the children tended to eat them as soon as they were ripe. And really, they didn't keep well anyway. I wanted better this time. So I ordered two varieties that are supposed to be large and meaty, but tasty. One is an early bearer and the other is supposed to produce throughout the summer.
When the shipment arrived, I was surprised to find that I had two plastic bags of roots. Before I placed the order, I called their customer service line to ask how they would come, but nothing prepared me for what I received. In each bag appeared to be a bundle of brown tendrils bound together with a rubber band. I began to second guess my decision to order them, especially since right afterwards I began to see large strawberry plants available at the local nurseries and box stores, some of them with blossoms on them already.
Even then, I didn't plant them. I was still waiting on retaining wall block for my last planting box (all the block seems to be back-ordered around here). I left the roots in the bags, thinking I would plant them very soon. After about a week, I noticed that they began to grow leaves inside the bag, and the moisture was condensing on the inside of the bag, so I thought they would be alright. And still I didn't get the planting box finished. (It didn't help that we had about a week of rain.)
Then I noticed one day that the leaves were gone, and I worried that I had let my strawberry roots die. So at my first opportunity, I got some plastic cups, put some soil in them, and planted one bag of the roots in them. Since I ran out of cups, I had to go to the store, and there I found some biodegradable starter pots, which I purchased for the other bag of roots. I also remembered reading that you shouldn't plant strawberries where you've previously had tomatoes or peppers, because they cause the soil to rot the strawberry roots. The soil I had used came from the box where I had tomatoes last year, so I bought some potting soil and planted the second batch in that.
Now my planting box is still not ready, and the plants don't seem to be doing well. The second batch don't appear to have any life left in them at all, and the first batch I'll have to replant in proper starter pots with potting soil. A few of them have green leaves, but I think I may have killed 45 of the 50 plants.
It didn't ease my pain to finally find the instructions of how to care for them if I wasn't going to plant them immediately. I had looked for something like that when I received the box, but didn't find it at the time. Now I found it, and learned that I should have opened the bag and poured water in every other day.
Really, I should have just planted them in the starter pots from the beginning. It seems pretty late in the season now, and I may have missed my window of opportunity for this year.
As a curious aside, while I was sitting on the driveway planting them, with my youngest two children playing nearby and helping me, two Jehovah's Witness women came by and struck up a conversation with me. I was not interested in their message, but in general I do admire their fervor and commitment in that faith. So I talked with them while I sat there and continued working. I took the opportunity to share my faith and testimony with them, and though neither convinced the other, I think we were all enriched by the encounter. The most important part for me was to demonstrate for my children respect for others and testifying of the truths I know when the opportunity arises.
After all, it's not only fruits and vegetables I'm trying to raise well.
We had strawberries in Utah, when we lived there, but they were a small variety, and not very firm. They produced plentifully, but the children tended to eat them as soon as they were ripe. And really, they didn't keep well anyway. I wanted better this time. So I ordered two varieties that are supposed to be large and meaty, but tasty. One is an early bearer and the other is supposed to produce throughout the summer.
When the shipment arrived, I was surprised to find that I had two plastic bags of roots. Before I placed the order, I called their customer service line to ask how they would come, but nothing prepared me for what I received. In each bag appeared to be a bundle of brown tendrils bound together with a rubber band. I began to second guess my decision to order them, especially since right afterwards I began to see large strawberry plants available at the local nurseries and box stores, some of them with blossoms on them already.
Then I noticed one day that the leaves were gone, and I worried that I had let my strawberry roots die. So at my first opportunity, I got some plastic cups, put some soil in them, and planted one bag of the roots in them. Since I ran out of cups, I had to go to the store, and there I found some biodegradable starter pots, which I purchased for the other bag of roots. I also remembered reading that you shouldn't plant strawberries where you've previously had tomatoes or peppers, because they cause the soil to rot the strawberry roots. The soil I had used came from the box where I had tomatoes last year, so I bought some potting soil and planted the second batch in that.
It didn't ease my pain to finally find the instructions of how to care for them if I wasn't going to plant them immediately. I had looked for something like that when I received the box, but didn't find it at the time. Now I found it, and learned that I should have opened the bag and poured water in every other day.
Really, I should have just planted them in the starter pots from the beginning. It seems pretty late in the season now, and I may have missed my window of opportunity for this year.
As a curious aside, while I was sitting on the driveway planting them, with my youngest two children playing nearby and helping me, two Jehovah's Witness women came by and struck up a conversation with me. I was not interested in their message, but in general I do admire their fervor and commitment in that faith. So I talked with them while I sat there and continued working. I took the opportunity to share my faith and testimony with them, and though neither convinced the other, I think we were all enriched by the encounter. The most important part for me was to demonstrate for my children respect for others and testifying of the truths I know when the opportunity arises.
After all, it's not only fruits and vegetables I'm trying to raise well.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Peach Schemes
When we found this house, one of the things that really appealed to me was a spacious backyard with lots of mature trees. I was also pleasantly surprised to find, tucked under the bigger trees, two peach trees. I cleared away all the brush and brambles, and cut away a few branches to give these peach trees more sunshine. Then, last spring they blossomed beautifully and I was pleased to see lots of small peaches growing. There were so many that I knew I would have to do some serious thinning, but I wanted them to get about an inch long so I could tell which ones were more viable.
One day there were bunches, and I knew I would have to get out there soon, and the next time I checked, there were only a handful of young peaches left on the trees. I thought perhaps a recent storm had blown them off, but couldn't find any on the ground. Anyhow, the thinning job was no longer necessary. The next time I came out, I discovered there were no peaches left at all on the tree. How could that be? I finally determined that it must have been the squirrels who stole them all away. I didn't think the birds had done it.
This year I was determined to get a good crop of peaches. Now, even though Georgia is the peach state, I don't know anyone here in Northern Georgia who has had any luck with their peach trees in their yards. I'm told they always lose the crop to "brown rot," whatever that is. (See how I betray my inexperience?) Thing is, I've never seen brown rot on the tree, because the peaches never lasted long enough to get it. So I figured one thing at a time, right? Protect them from the squirrels first.
I decided to wrap the trunks in something that the squirrels couldn't climb. I checked at the big box stores, and no one was any help. Apparently people don't generally go looking there for something like this. I finally found some aluminum flashing that might work. I have now put that flashing around the trunks of the trees. On one of them I was able to put it to four feet high (the estimated jumping ability of most squirrels, from what I've read). The other branches out lower than that, so it only goes two feet high.
So far so good. I enjoy looking out at the trees and seeing my efforts manifest plainly. Only time will tell whether my efforts bear fruit (sorry; couldn't help it). I'll let you know.
One day there were bunches, and I knew I would have to get out there soon, and the next time I checked, there were only a handful of young peaches left on the trees. I thought perhaps a recent storm had blown them off, but couldn't find any on the ground. Anyhow, the thinning job was no longer necessary. The next time I came out, I discovered there were no peaches left at all on the tree. How could that be? I finally determined that it must have been the squirrels who stole them all away. I didn't think the birds had done it.
This year I was determined to get a good crop of peaches. Now, even though Georgia is the peach state, I don't know anyone here in Northern Georgia who has had any luck with their peach trees in their yards. I'm told they always lose the crop to "brown rot," whatever that is. (See how I betray my inexperience?) Thing is, I've never seen brown rot on the tree, because the peaches never lasted long enough to get it. So I figured one thing at a time, right? Protect them from the squirrels first.
So far so good. I enjoy looking out at the trees and seeing my efforts manifest plainly. Only time will tell whether my efforts bear fruit (sorry; couldn't help it). I'll let you know.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
What the Garden Teaches
If gardening teaches patience, I must be a stubborn learner. From the beginning I've been trying to jump ahead and take shortcuts.
I did it again today. At Costco I came across some tomato plants in 3-gallon buckets. And not just any young tomato plants. No, these were three feet tall, already with fruit on them and many flowers. There were three plants to a bucket, all for only $13 and change. So I got some.
Problem is, I don't have a place to plant them. Yet. The first garden box is filled with the tomatoes and peppers we bought at the Grower's Outlet last week. The second has plants already in a third of it, but the rest of the box is waiting for enough good soil. And the third planting box isn't finished yet. It still needs a retaining wall and more excavation, not to mention planting soil.
So why did I buy the them?
Because I thought how great it would be to have fresh grown tomatoes in April, instead of waiting until July. This isn't the first time I've done this. Last fall, as Lowe's was closing out the season, they put their remaining plants on sale. I bought three raspberry plants and a pecan tree (a stick, really). The raspberry plants are still in their plastic pots in the garage. They've suffered a little damage during the winter, but I watered them and stuck them out in the sun whenever I could, and they are starting to look pretty good now. The thought of having fresh raspberries this summer wouldn't let me pass on buying them long before I was ready. Now, if only I can figure out the good spot of ground for them . . .
I did plant the pecan tree, but you can only tell it's there by the clasps holding it to the pole. Although it's four feet tall, it's only about a half inch in diameter. I'll certainly have to be patient before I get any nuts from that one, but the impatience was manifest in buying it when it was on clearance. (Maybe I'm not impatient, just cheap. Hmmm.)
I also bought blueberry bushes and two apple trees in December and gave them to the family as Christmas presents. Knowing it would be a couple of years at least before I get a pretty good crop, I had to go ahead and take the jump. I planted one of the blueberry bushes a few weeks ago, but the other is still waiting on--you guessed it, excavation and retaining wall and soil. But I've made progress.
As for the apple trees, they're flowering and looking nice. I got one Honeycrisp and one Granny Smith. I think I've identified the (third different) spot of ground for them, but I'm concerned that it's not yet a good one. It has a water drainage problem (the whole back yard does), and I read that apple trees need well-drained soil. So now I don't know what to do. I had thought to put in French drains, but now I need to think through whether the roots would damage them. And if I wait to plant them until the drains are finished, that could be the end of the summer, or maybe even middle of the winter. I told myself I would first finish the garden boxes before I do the French drains. But, hey, that could be just in time to plant the apples in their proper season!
See how my impatience perplexes me? It puts the pressure on to take action, but my inexperience leads to indecision. And even when I do make the decision, the action must still wait, because of lack of time, knowledge, or resources.
Part of the challenge is that I'm trying to plant things I want in their proper season. So even though I'm not ready, I go ahead and buy the plants because I don't want to wait a whole year for the next optimal planting season. That's why I have fifty strawberry plants (roots, really, but that's another story) in my garage waiting for that third garden box.
Another challenge I create for myself is that I'm trying to do all the yard and garden on the cheap. While the Lord has blessed us with sufficient for our needs, I don't have lots of extra money to hire landscapers and rent equipment and all that. Sometimes supplies and equipment must wait for that tiny bulge in the budget or a tax refund. In fact, I've been digging and moving dirt and rocks for a year and a half now without even a wheelbarrow.
But not anymore! I bought my first wheelbarrow today on that same trip to Costco. I'd been looking around and comparing cost and construction and found this to be a good deal at $60. It has metal rather than wooden handles, and a metal box instead of the plastic ones that seem to be popular now. It took me two hours to assemble it (go ahead, laugh), but even in the short time left that I used it tonight, I was reminded that the right tools can make all the difference.
Maybe it's not just patience I'm supposed to be learning. Maybe it's also judgment, forethought, wisdom . . .
Amazing all the life lessons you can learn digging in the dirt.
I did it again today. At Costco I came across some tomato plants in 3-gallon buckets. And not just any young tomato plants. No, these were three feet tall, already with fruit on them and many flowers. There were three plants to a bucket, all for only $13 and change. So I got some.
Problem is, I don't have a place to plant them. Yet. The first garden box is filled with the tomatoes and peppers we bought at the Grower's Outlet last week. The second has plants already in a third of it, but the rest of the box is waiting for enough good soil. And the third planting box isn't finished yet. It still needs a retaining wall and more excavation, not to mention planting soil.
So why did I buy the them?
Because I thought how great it would be to have fresh grown tomatoes in April, instead of waiting until July. This isn't the first time I've done this. Last fall, as Lowe's was closing out the season, they put their remaining plants on sale. I bought three raspberry plants and a pecan tree (a stick, really). The raspberry plants are still in their plastic pots in the garage. They've suffered a little damage during the winter, but I watered them and stuck them out in the sun whenever I could, and they are starting to look pretty good now. The thought of having fresh raspberries this summer wouldn't let me pass on buying them long before I was ready. Now, if only I can figure out the good spot of ground for them . . .
I did plant the pecan tree, but you can only tell it's there by the clasps holding it to the pole. Although it's four feet tall, it's only about a half inch in diameter. I'll certainly have to be patient before I get any nuts from that one, but the impatience was manifest in buying it when it was on clearance. (Maybe I'm not impatient, just cheap. Hmmm.)I also bought blueberry bushes and two apple trees in December and gave them to the family as Christmas presents. Knowing it would be a couple of years at least before I get a pretty good crop, I had to go ahead and take the jump. I planted one of the blueberry bushes a few weeks ago, but the other is still waiting on--you guessed it, excavation and retaining wall and soil. But I've made progress.
As for the apple trees, they're flowering and looking nice. I got one Honeycrisp and one Granny Smith. I think I've identified the (third different) spot of ground for them, but I'm concerned that it's not yet a good one. It has a water drainage problem (the whole back yard does), and I read that apple trees need well-drained soil. So now I don't know what to do. I had thought to put in French drains, but now I need to think through whether the roots would damage them. And if I wait to plant them until the drains are finished, that could be the end of the summer, or maybe even middle of the winter. I told myself I would first finish the garden boxes before I do the French drains. But, hey, that could be just in time to plant the apples in their proper season!
See how my impatience perplexes me? It puts the pressure on to take action, but my inexperience leads to indecision. And even when I do make the decision, the action must still wait, because of lack of time, knowledge, or resources.
Part of the challenge is that I'm trying to plant things I want in their proper season. So even though I'm not ready, I go ahead and buy the plants because I don't want to wait a whole year for the next optimal planting season. That's why I have fifty strawberry plants (roots, really, but that's another story) in my garage waiting for that third garden box.
Another challenge I create for myself is that I'm trying to do all the yard and garden on the cheap. While the Lord has blessed us with sufficient for our needs, I don't have lots of extra money to hire landscapers and rent equipment and all that. Sometimes supplies and equipment must wait for that tiny bulge in the budget or a tax refund. In fact, I've been digging and moving dirt and rocks for a year and a half now without even a wheelbarrow.
But not anymore! I bought my first wheelbarrow today on that same trip to Costco. I'd been looking around and comparing cost and construction and found this to be a good deal at $60. It has metal rather than wooden handles, and a metal box instead of the plastic ones that seem to be popular now. It took me two hours to assemble it (go ahead, laugh), but even in the short time left that I used it tonight, I was reminded that the right tools can make all the difference.
Maybe it's not just patience I'm supposed to be learning. Maybe it's also judgment, forethought, wisdom . . .
Amazing all the life lessons you can learn digging in the dirt.
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