The Awe-Inspiring Beauty of Nature (let's call a truce).

I am routinely struck by intricacies in nature that I see as I go about my day. I am literally awed by many of the things that I observe or learn about. As awe-inspiring as our natural world is, I am convinced that it is only a shadow of the beauty and complexities of heaven, which are really only reflections of God Himself.

The Depression-era hobo of the desert Southwest, Everett Ruess, [thanks, Dustin, for bringing him to my attention--see Adventure magazine, from National Geographic, the April/May, 2009 issue] wrote to his brother from Southern Utah or Northern Arizona saying, "I've seen almost more beauty than I can stand." I don't think Everett--or anyone on earth--has seen the half of it.

And it's too bad, this enmity between people of faith and people of science. The Christian knows God but often understands poorly the many natural reflections of His glory; the scientist understands the creation, but often not the Creator. Perhaps some dialog between them--and some mutual respect!--would be of benefit to both sides. If the people of faith would quit trying to protect God from Science [He does not need the "help".]. And if scientists would quit trying to protect science from God, maybe more people could learn to see God in His greater glory, and appreciate nature for all that it is.

Where Geometry, Biology and Poetry Meet

Here is a little poem about lost love from Robert W. Service that should be a humerous brush-up in geometry (and biology) for you . . . enjoy.

Maternity

There once was a Square, such a square little Square,
And he loved a trim Triangle;
But she was a flirt and around her skirt
Vainly she made him dangle.
Oh he wanted to wed and he had no dread
Of domestic woes and wrangles;
For he thought that his fate was to procreate
Cute little Squares and Triangles.

Now it happened one day on that geometric way
There swaggered a big bold Cube,
With a haughty stare and he made that Square
Have the air of a perfect boob;
To his solid spell the Triangle fell,
And she thrilled with love's sweet sickness,
For she took delight in his breadth and height--
But how she adored his thickness!

So that poor little Square just died of despair,
For his love he could not strangle;
While the bold Cube led to the bridal bed
That cute and acute Triangle.
The Square's sad lot she has long forgot, And his passionate pretensions . . .
For she dotes on her kids--Oh such cute Pyramids
In a world of three dimensions.

-- Robert W. Service (1874-1958)

It's Just the Kind of Day I'm Wanting

There are three things, lately, that I've noticed about myself. And that is that I place high value in these things: beauty, wonder, and contentment. Beauty includes not just the physical beauty of some people (we are inundated with that by the media), but beauty in nature, in art, and in music, for instance. Even fragrances. I try to stop myself and literally "smell the roses" (i.e., any fragrant blossom that I come across)--and if I'm too busy for that, then I'm too busy!

And the wonder of it all. To take the time to be amazed by things, to ponder the intricacies of things, and to see God's hand in wondrous things.

Contentment, however, is a little more tricky. Discontentment plagues us when things do not pan out like we'd hoped--when expectations and reality do not overlap. The way I see it, there are two ways to combat our discontent: we can either reduce our expectations, or we can be philosophical about our disappointments.

An extensive scientific study was done several years ago by some sociologists who wanted to know who were the most happy, contented people on the planet. They studied diverse cultures all over the world--urban, rural, rich, poor, sophisticated, backward, first-world, third-world, etc. The conclusion was that the most happy people were those who had almost nothing, but who expected almost nothing. These were third-world people who first-world people would pity--for their lack of prosperity--but were none-the-less more content than others. Most were in poor, tropical countries like those in Central America.

The key, the researchers found, was that their relatively poor "realities" best matched their relatively low expectations of life. In our 21st Century USA, having genuinely low expectations is not realistic, what with our culture, our media marketing machine, etc. For Americans, contentment is probably more attainable by mentally "taking it all in stride". By putting things in context--in perspective--we can re-orient our thinking so our attitudes do not suffer from the little things that go awry, while forgetting the big things that are still on track. That's why a funeral now and then is good for the soul (someone else's funeral, that is!). Also, why a trip to a third-world country (not the tourist spots) is also good for gaining perspective.

Thanksgiving (focusing on all the good parts of your life), too, is a great means of promoting contentment.

For the Christian, regularly focusing on what the Gospel means to our future is a powerful attitude adjustment. The Apostle Paul told his protege, Timothy, "But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that." And to his friends in the town of Philippi he wrote, "I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength."

Of course, lack of things or money or food are not the only sources of discontent. It could be our situation (family circumstances, family individuals, job, where we live, etc.). Many of these are things we can't change anyway. Like the weather.

My dad, the late Dr. Charles K. Holland, loved "the people's poet" of his generation, Robert W. Service. He passed that love on to me. Here's an appropriate one for you to chew on. Don't mind the ol' timey language with the Scottish brogue; and don't worry, Service wrote light verse, not the deep, incomprehensible kind.

Contentment

An ancient gaffer once I knew,
Who puffed a pipe and tossed a tankard;
He claimed a hundred years and two,
And for a dozen more he hankered;
So o'er a pint I asked how he
Had kept his timbers tight together;
He grinned and answered: "It maun be
Because I likes all kinds o' weather.

"For every morn when I get up
I lights me clay pipe wi' a cinder
And as me mug o' tea I sup
I looks from out the cottage winder;
And if it's shade or if it's shine
Or wind or snow befit to freeze me,
I always say: 'Well, now, that's fine . . .
It's just the sort o' day to please me.'

For I have found it wise in life
To take the luck the way it's coming;
A wake, a worry or a wife--
Just carry on and keep a-humming.
And so I lights me pipe o' clay,
And though the morn on blizzard borders,
I chuckle in me guts and say:
'It's just the day the doctor orders.' "

A mighty good philosophy
Thought I, and leads to longer living,
To make the best of things that be,
And take the weather of God's giving;
So though the sky be ashen grey,
And winds be edged and sleet be slanting,
Heap faggots on the fire and say:
"It's just the kind of day I'm wanting."

-- Robert W. Service (1874-1958)

Life Is A Fight, But Then . . .

Life on earth is a fight. There are three things about life on earth that we must battle continually: gravity, ecological succession, and human nature. Gravity stoops, creases and sags our bodies; succession erases our efforts for tidy yards and gardens; and human nature degrades our best efforts to live at peace with each other. Heaven is eternal release from all three.

Whatever humans erect or lift up, gravity will eventually bring down--be it a satallite or a house. If it weren't for gravity we could run a marathon and not feel winded. Gravity is why plastic surgeons get paid so well for lifting and tucking the bodies of wealthy, vain ladies. It is to take a break from gravity that we sit down to rest and lay down flat to sleep. When we breath our last we will be lying down with only the earth's surface holding us up. That will be the end of our fight with gravity.

Then there is succession. Back in the 1940's, my grandmother used to keep a formal garden at her 11-acre estate in eastern Mississippi. It was the English-type garden with intricate designs made from manicured boxwood hedges. By the time I was in high school in the 1970's, it was smothered under the local native vegetation. It was located to the left of the driveway near the top of the hill. If you didn't know any better, you would drive by and never guess a formal garden was ever there. All you can see now is a tangle of native grape vines and fallen branches with native trees growing up through it all.

My grandparents loved to travel in their car. Everywhere they visited, they collected a few rocks to remember that place. After many years of this, they used the rocks to build a beautiful waterfall next to their patio. They regularly had friends and their "supper club" visiting on the patio and admiring the water as it cascaded down all those interesting rocks from all those interesting places from all over North America. Today, the ivy and other vegetation has grown thickly over the rocks and--just like the English garden--no one would ever guess what once was there. Now it looks just like the wild brambles at the edge of the field.

I must admit that the thought of this is somewhat discouraging to me as I pull the weeds in my garden beds. A friend of ours who, as far as I know, has no formal training in the science of ecology put it well. She said, "I'm tired of trying to hold back the Ozarks." That's layman's talk for ecological succession.

Before someone cleared my pasture (probably many decades ago), it was Eastern Deciduous Forest--oak, hickory, black gum, red maple, sycamore, dogwood, etc. As long as I brush hog it with my tractor two or three times each year, it remains a tall fescue pasture. But if I hold off for even a few months, I see the blackberries coming in, and the buck brush, and the ash trees. These are all early-succession woody plants in the Ozarks. As they fill the space, they change the conditions so that red maples and other trees come in, until finally it is a deciduous forest again.

So, everytime I pull weeds in my garden or mow my lawn or brush hog my pasture, I am trying to "hold back the Ozarks". I can show you a whole host of tree species growing as volunteer seedlings in the cracks of the vast parking lot of your local shopping mall. In fact, the more artificial we try to keep the land, the more effort it takes to keep it that way--be it a formal landscape or a soybean field. Left alone, ecological succession will inexoribly lead--like gravity--to where it "wants" to go. It's like keeping a heavy ball up in the air trying not to let it touch the ground. That's our fight with succession.

Ahh . . . and then there is human nature! Possibly the strongest force we have to contend with. Human nature makes me selfish, and prideful, and impatient, and worrisome, and demanding, and . . . miserable. It causes me to let other people down and get purturbed at me. It makes me to forever want more things and to be discontent with what is. On the other hand, the Bible says that the Spirit of God empowers us to see these kinds of qualities in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Because human nature is so strong, experiencing these "fruits of the Spirit" is almost like defying gravity. It ain't natural. It's a miracle of God when we experience it in ourselves. But someday, it will be the norm, the routine. In heaven, there are no wars, no lawsuits, no arguments, no jealous rages, no revenge. Like gravity and succession, the fight with human nature will be over.

Perhaps there is one more fight to consider. Perhaps I should add: time. Time gets away from us and stresses us and ages us. We say that “time is of the essence” and “time is money”. Time is the currency used by the other enemies—gravity, succession, and human nature. Given enough time, all three will undo us. But heaven is eternal because God’s nature is eternal and transcends time. The Bible says that, to God, a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years are like a day—both are true at the same instant. So time has no meaning or relevance in the context of heaven. Heaven is a release from time, and from everything else that wears us down or binds us up. Look forward to it! And make your arrangements . . .

Just The Right Word

I value beauty in the things around me, including really good writing. I aspire towards writing this blog on a regular basis, but tend to shirk it because I don't want to publish anything that is written badly. And good writing requires, not only inspiration, but a lot of work . . . and time.

Here’s a good quote about writing from an email I received last fall from Stephen Caldwell:

"The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter--it's the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning." Mark Twain

Some final advice for my readers: Never turn a cold shoulder to a new word … LOOK IT UP!

God of the Clouds

"Listen to this, Job:
stop and consider God’s wonders.

Do you know how God controls the clouds
and makes his lightning flash?

Do you know how the clouds hang poised,
those wonders of him who is perfect in knowledge?”

Job 37:14-16 NIV

The last six chapters of Job point out--using the wonders of nature as illustrations--that God is in control and we are merely humble participants of His creation.

(photos looking north on 1st Ave, near our farm in Elkins, AR)

Tree Frogs

I came across this “cute” little green-colored tree frog today on my front porch.




Just “hanging out” in the shade during the hot part of a June day—he/she’ll be hoppin’ busy tonight though. Tree frogs eat insects, spiders, mites, and snails during the night—mostly on the ground. Although this individual is green in color, he/she is a Gray Treefrog (Hyla versicolor) which often is gray or brown, but can be green. They like moist, wooded areas which is what our home landscape is. At night they take to the trees. They court and mate from March to October, singing their little hearts out from the branches of trees. The males sing to attract females in order to … well, you know … to make tadpoles! They stake out territories and are said to defend them vigorously if another male enters in. I wonder, just how ferocious can a male tree frog be?

They live for only 2-3 years, overwintering under leaf litter, rotted logs, rocks, etc. They successfully survive our somewhat cold winters by producing large amounts of glycerol in their blood and body tissues, which acts as a sort of “anti-freeze”, preventing ice from forming in their body cells (from Amphibians and Reptiles of Arkansas by Trauth, et. al.). Plants that are cold-hardy in the winter do the same thing for the same reason. So how about that ... plants and animals produce antifreeze!

We have lots of tree frogs that show up in surprising places. They will sit and pose for a picture and even sit in your hand without trying to escape. We have so many because our “yard” is similar to their natural habitat (moist, shady with trees and lots of leaf litter) and partly because we don’t spray our trees and shrubs with insecticides. This means we are not killing either the frogs themselves or the prey that they subsist on. Also, our water garden provides a place for them to lay their eggs, where the tadpoles will develop. The coloration—either mottled gray or green—is probably more for blending into the background in order to avoid the attention of predators (like birds, especially) than it is for sneaking up on prey. Here’s a pic from last year where I noticed a green-colored Gray Tree Frog passing the day inside the canopy of my native Button Bush shrub.





Tree frogs have expanded, flattened toes with suction cups that secrete a sticky mucous which allows them to hang on to just about anything they want to hang on to—like windows or, in this case, storm doors .











At night, in the summer, all kinds of insects are attracted to our windows, either from the porch light or to lights inside the house that they can’t get to. So tree frogs will often congregate where the action is. They hang on to the slick surface with these sticky suction cups. You can watch them stalk an insect on the window until suddenly an incredibly long, sticky tongue darts out in a flash and the frog begins to munch his/her meal. After a few nights of this, we have to clean up tree frog poop from the window sill. It means there was lots of action for the tree frogs that week! So, even a summer front porch can be an ecological hotbed of living and dying--call it "porch light ecology". You don’t have to go to the African plains to see that—just walk outside your house and open your eyes!

Bogged down blog!

6-23-09
Dear readers, I am going to try to restart my blog after all my good intentions sputtered out in February. I’ve decided that if I wait for pure inspiration and masterful copy, I will never publish anything. So, I’ll try again with whatever I come up with. There are several topic areas that interest me. One area that I hope to document, or share, is the natural history of our own yard—dare I say, “yard ecology”? There is a term—“landscape ecology”—that I prefer, since it includes the natural history of other urban landscapes like malls and office parks. But I’ve also seen this term used for bonafide wild areas as well. So, “yard ecology” fits for now. It can be surprising how much interesting natural history goes on beneath our noses.

A couple of other subject areas that might crop up relate to music and to spiritual things. Actually there is a lot of overlap in my mind between the three areas. We’ll see how it goes. To God be the glory for all the interesting things we see and hear.

Thoughts about music and creativity …

Music—outside of the church—is nowadays mostly performance, not participation (sometimes even there, in the church). It wasn’t always so; this is a modern development. Dr. Daniel Levitin, in This is Your Brain on Music, discusses in detail what is happening inside the brain while playing or listening to music. He theorizes that music might even pre-date language as a form of communication. Throughout the history of mankind, most people participated in the making/playing/creating of music, or at least, dancing to it. Music has always been an important, basic form of human communication.

Only in modern times have we specialized into a dichotomy of professional performers and paying audiences (active vs. passive). We appreciate music vicariously (i.e., we let them do it) because the performers are so good: the cream of the crop, who do nothing but get better and better at playing/performing music. We don’t expect that we can be that good—and we can’t—so we don’t participate at all. We listen to the professionals, or the cd’s they sell, and we buy tickets to their concerts and watch their videos on television. They play music more and more actively and skillfully, as they become more and more successful, and we get more and more passive in our musical—and artistic—expression.

Grateful Dead (left) and Ted Nugent (right).

A new wrinkle has developed in recent years that could be considered somewhere in-between the extremes of the historical universal participation in making music versus the modern professional performing for a passive audience. This in-between version began a few years ago with the appearance of the Karaoke phenomenon. Not just a fad blowing through our culture, karaoke has kept a worldwide presence and even built on its early popularity. Of course, karaoke is simply recorded music, played over speakers without the vocal tracks, which are then added “live” by participants with a microphone. It is still a matter of a performer and an audience; only with karaoke the performer is a non-professional, maybe a non-musician.

Next to come down the pike was Guitar Hero—an innovative “music game” that plays recorded music while a participant watches a video screen and manipulates a computer-guitar along with the music. The more skillfully you push the correct buttons as the music plays, the more points you score. It still is one participant “playing” to previously recorded music—now as a video game with an objective scoring system. Music competition for points, like music-sports entertainment.

The next logical step appeared in 2008 as “Rock Band”. Now, with a little more outlay for “instruments”, you and your friends can “perform” previously recorded versions of all kinds of hit rock songs as a “band”. One or more have a microphone for vocals, one has a Guitar Hero-like computer-guitar, another has electronic drum pads, and so on. Again, you are watching a video screen and scoring points—individually and as a band.

Sorry, folks, but you are not playing music; you are “playing”, but you are not creating or even recreating music.

Recently, I played at a house party where several skilled musicians, who don’t normally play together, were invited to jam while others watched and listened. When I say skilled musicians, I mean people who regularly play in public, several of whom tour professionally for their sole livelihood. I’ve been to these before, but this time was different. At some point, someone began doling out percussion instruments to the “unskilled listeners”—a djemba, a couple of washboards, a tambourine, etc.

The pounding and scraping and shaking of these neophyte percussionists did not detract from the quality of the music played by the “skilled” musicians. And it brought a wonderful sense of participation and inclusion for those “unskilled” percussion players. They were suddenly “making music” with the “real musicians”. I thought it was lovely.

It took me back to a time when I first began playing guitar and banjo, as an unskilled musician, at college house parties that would often turn into a nightlong songfest, with everyone present participating, singing shared songs at the top of their lungs. I remember the magic of those times. It was like recreating a Pete Seeger concert, coaxing an entire audience to sing along on the very first song. There is great community in making music together, skilled or not.

And yet, there is artistic value and great advantage when skilled musicians—performers—have long experience playing and creating good music together. Improvisational musicians—be it jazz, bluegrass, blues, rock or whatever—know well the magic of melodic ideas bouncing off one musician only to feed related, but new, ideas to others as the music moves around the circle of soloists.

A very different dynamic happens in other genres when musicians play--not by improvising, but together in unison--recreating a beautiful piece of music. Classical musicians or Irish or Appalachian fiddle/banjo music is performed with all participants playing the same melody, or harmonies thereof, at the same time. There are generally no soloists taking turns (although classical music can also feature soloists), but multiple individuals playing the same melody at the same time, perhaps supplemented with rhythm and percussion instruments. Perhaps less of the free expression and competitiveness of improvised music, but the pleasure and camaraderie is just as pleasing and valid.

Music in all of its styles and traditions, in all of its different venues and contexts, is pure aural beauty expressed in a way that God gave only to humans—of all His creatures--the ability to express. The animals, for sure, can make wonderful music: a chorus of spring peepers (frogs) or the melodious wood thrush, which can produce two distinct notes simultaneously—notes that are in harmony with each other (i.e., can sing harmony with itself!). But these are mindless expressions of genetic encoding for establishing territories and attracting mates (not that human music is never used for the latter purpose…). God has given only man the ability to express his deepest emotions through voice or musical instrument.

Donald Miller’s book, Blue Like Jazz, is not about jazz or even about music, it is about finding God. But an author’s note at the beginning of the book captures the God-given mystery of music:

I never liked jazz music because jazz music doesn’t resolve. But I was outside the Bagdad Theater in Portland one night when I saw a man playing the saxophone. I stood there for fifteen minutes, and he never opened his eyes.

After that I liked jazz music.

Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way…

So, listen to music, savor music like dark chocolate, make music with abandon. Even if you are no good, make real music—actively participate in music—it is good for your soul, God knows.

The Big Freeze of '09

The Big Freeze. Wow, what an experience ... and we are not out of it yet. As I write, I can hear a continual tinkle of ice as it rains, non-stop, from the trees. On Tuesday and Wednesday, it rained non-stop and became ice on the trees. Today it is raining ice from the trees. The sun is out and the temperature is above freezing. The ground is littered with ice fragments in the shapes of the stems from whence they came. Sometimes a huge shower of ice will fall, but always there is the tinkle and sprinkle of ice. It's pretty cool, but you have to watch out where you are watching from (so to speak) or you'll get a facefull.



Ozark Electric says two-thirds of its customers are without power. I think SWEPCO is about the same, as most of Fayetteville-Springdale is out. Our power came back on (kind of) around 9:00 am on Thursday (Jan 29th). I say "kind of" because most of the wires on our electrical box on the side of our house were ripped out when the utility pole snapped off and the feed wire sagged to about 6 ft off the ground across the street and our driveway. Now that it is "hot" it is very dangerous and we are trying to warn kids that like to walk the street to play with the dogs. We are waiting for Ozark Electric to put in a new pole, but they have some other stuff going on, I guess! We have random outlets around the house that work, like the refridgerator, but not the stove; the microwave, but not the garbage disposal; lamps on tables, but not over-head lights, etc. But we are happy to have something.


It actually was kind of interesting living for a couple of days and nights with oil lamps and candles, and cooking on top of the heater. We actually cooked a pot of beans and a pot of soup on it. And heated water for French press coffee in the morning (Thanks, Laurel for the Sumatra Gayo from Stumptown Coffee). I read so much that I'm not sure I want to pay the cable bill anymore; it was kind of refreshing to not flip continually through all those dumb tv shows. (I don't know who is dumb and who is dumbest when I'm doing that!)



As you can see from the next photos, we have a lot of work ahead of us cleaning up the tree limbs. And so does everyone else between here and Louisville, KY. We drove into Fayetteville yesterday and saw whole trees uprooted--fallen over from the weight of the ice, with their roots above ground. I took a walk down O'Neal Lane on Tuesday afternoon and about every 15 to 20 seconds you heard what sounded like a rifle shot as another tree limb splintered and crashed to the ground somewhere. I love trees so much (although I rarely hug them), I could hardly stand it so I went back home. Also, since there were about five trees laying across our street, I decided I was not being too bright anyway. Occasionally, you saw the blue or green flash of another electrical transformer blowing in the distance. You can see why there was so much damage to utility lines and trees, look how thick the ice was on everything ...








































Here's a view of the driveway with electrical wires and cable down low. The next is looking back towards the house and the compost pile from the Dog Roundup Office (barn).

But as awful as it all was, it was beautiful at the same time, especially when the sun peaked out. The ice sparkled like diamonds as far as the eye could see. And if you looked carefully, at just the right angle, you could see colors. The ice acts as a prism (frozen water forms a crystal lattice and all..) and splits the bright sunlight into all the colors of the rainbow, one at a time. If you stare at a particular spot and move your head very slightly, you can see that spot change from bright red to orange to yellow to green and blue and so on. I tried to capture it with my camera--see if you can make it out on this cedar tree...there is a central spot that is brightest, but secondary spots of blue and green that were in focus with the human eye but out of focus with the camera.


















By Thursday, it had begun to melt (notice Atticus in the background) ...




Speaking of dogs, here are a couple of the one boarder we had during the worst of the storm, a standard poodle name Smith Wilson (both names are his, not his owners' last name). He was very bouncy as you can see when he plays with E.B.















The limited power that we had at first was off and on. On Friday, the utility pole that had snapped finally crashed all the way to the ground which further ripped the lines off the house and left the hot electric line about four feet off the ground across the street and driveway. This trapped all the neighbors who had to park at our house and scoot under the wire. Others were visiting their house and couldn't leave (as was Hayden). The Elkins police came with flashing lights to secure the situation. Finally, just before nightfall, they were able to get Ozarks Electric to cut the power and remove the line.


So today (Tuesday), after a week without power, a neighbor re-installed the panel and meter to the house so--after an electrician okays it--Ozark Electric can install a new pole and connect the line. A utility worker told me that it would probably be another week before that happens! In the meantime, the trailer/office and the DDR bunkhouse had power. We moved the kitchen (microwave, coffeemaker, food, utensils, etc.) to the trailer and "lived" there except for sleeping and showering.


Finally, on Friday--after 10 days--we got our power back! Everything seems so bright inside! We had gotten kind of use to the more intimate feel of the candles and oil lamps. So we're back on track after an interesting adventure. There is still a lot of cutting and dragging and burning to do outside. Later, I'll try to send a few pics of Fayetteville trees.