This wasn’t the work of ghosts, but it sure looked like it.I snapped on the kitchen lights at 3:00 a.m. to find one of the counters dripping with slime.It looked like the basement of the New York Public Library.As I grabbed a damp rag and a roll of paper towels, I thought about Ghostbusters and fresh produce.The slime, you see, came from a burst freezer pack.During the pandemic we’ve been using Misfits, a service that delivers fresh fruits and vegetables to your door.Early on, back in March and April, it looked like various shortages, apart from toilet paper, were here to stay. Every couple of weeks we’d get a Misfits box, so we’d at least have that.
Since fruits and vegetables are perishable, and since there is a time lag involved, they are packed with freezer bags.These cold-pack bags are reusable and we began sticking them in our ice-box.We have no free-standing freezer, so the unit atop our fridge was getting full.The last week’s pack had begun to leak in transit, and, being too busy, I’d set it aside until I could figure out how to dispose of it in the most environmentally friendly way.We don’t generate a huge amount of trash.We compost our food scraps, and being vegan we don’t have smelly animal byproducts to toss.And we recycle all that we can.I guess just “throwing it out” has become a kind of last resort.In the dark, the freezer bag made the decision for me and so I found myself mopping in the middle of the night.
It’s a small price to pay, really, to try to help save the environment.The past four years have contributed unconscionably to global warming.We tend not to care because those who’ll bear the brunt of it in the short-term are the poor.Industrialists can afford vacation homes in the mountains.Our lifestyles have an impact everywhere.We need to learn to think differently about things.Of course, that leaky freezer pack did cause quite a mess.The gooey slime was everywhere, but it was everywhere with a conscience.I have to wonder what happens to the world when leaders lack conscience.Unfortunately I don’t have to wonder long since I have the headlines to read.No, this wasn’t the work of ghosts, but unless we change our ways it could well be. And when those treating you like enemies are your leaders, who you gonna call?
The summer solstice is nearly here (on which more anon).The coronavirus outbreak reached crisis level in the United States just before the vernal equinox, so we’ve been living with this now for over a quarter of the year.The World Health Organization has been warning that the greatest danger now is complacency.I’ve been seeing troubling signs of it.Many people equate the partial opening up as a license to ditch the masks and start having parties again.I go jogging around 5 a.m. these days because, well, the solstice.It’s light enough and I’ve already been awake a couple of hours by then.Parks and playgrounds around here are officially closed still, but the other day just after first light I jogged by a group of guys playing basketball before sunrise.The days are longer and it feels like nothing can harm us in summer.
Like most other people I worry about the economy.You’d think books would be big business during a lockdown and in fact many kinds are doing quite well.The academic kind less so.Still, I haven’t given up my hope that the pandemic will prove transformative.We should emerge from this better than we were going into it.Granted, the Republican Party has put the bar really, really low, but people are, I hope, starting to realize we’re better than our government.We know that black lives matter.We know that science is real.We know that people matter more than money.Nevertheless it’s difficult to keep wearing masks when we’ve shed the winter clothes and donned short sleeves.Disease, like Republicanism, doesn’t respect human desires.We need to keep the masks on.
A strange kind of giddiness comes upon us during these long days.There’s so much light!Those who can sleep past 4 a.m. are finding the sky already glowing when they awake.At this latitude it stays light until almost 9 p.m., or so I’m told.Thinking back to our primal ancestors, we were only really active during daylight hours.Sluggish and sleepy in the winter, we’re now stimulated with so many photons we don’t know what to do with them all.I sincerely hope that Covid-19 has had enough of the human race and is ready to leave us alone.In the light of the day, however, the evidence isn’t there to bear that out.We can still celebrate the longest day of the year with masks on, knowing that six months from now things will be very different.
Apart from being Shakespearen click-bait, the title of this post reflects a present-day fear.We live on the edge of rural Pennsylvania.If you’re not familiar with the state, let me assure you, there are tons of woodlands and rural communities. You can drive for hours in a straight line and seldom leave the forest.When my wife sent me a warning email—I go to bed early and can’t seem to sleep late—I paid heed.A bear has been ambling through our town.My usual morning jog is along a trail at the edge of the woods.Bears are crepuscular.I watch horror movies.Put it all together and a Shakespearean level of anxiety quickly builds.It wouldn’t be so bad, but the photos show the bear romping through backyards and one of the reasons I jog the way I do is to avoid other people.
I see wildlife on my jogs.I see deer frequently, along with feral cats, rabbits, and, in season, ducks.I’ve seen raccoons, foxes, groundhogs, and even snapping turtles and salamanders.It’s not much of a stretch to think a bear could be lurking there.So instead I took to jogging the human streets.The danger out here, of course, is the human-borne kind.Covid-19 lurks, and even though I jog at 5 a.m. there are other elderly out and about.I hear a cough and wonder whether my chances might be better with the bear.The broken sidewalk’s a problem too.I have tripped before in the half light, but without Superman’s knack for flying. Or at least landing gracefully.
Thinking back, I wonder what has happened.As I child I lived in truly rural Pennsylvania.My brothers and I used to sleep on our open porch in the summers, even though we could occasionally hear bears going through the trashcans around the side of the house.Our place was hard up on the woods, right at the edge of town.I didn’t worry about the bears back then, though.We’ve perhaps become more afraid of nature because we know we’ve not been good to it.The episode of the X-Files we watched before bed last night had Scully saying that nature’s always out to get us.Perhaps we’ve drawn too solid a line between ourselves and brother or sister bear.We’re not above nature; we are nature.But still, I’d rather not be pursued, or eaten by a bear, no matter how much I like Shakespeare.So I’ll jog in town for awhile, taking my chances with the dangers of my own kind.
Photo credit: Manitoba Provincial Archives, via Wikimedia Commons
It’s funny how old fascinations have the power to reemerge with the slightest provocation.I guess writing a book will do that to you.I just finished Peter J. Thuesen’s Tornado God: American Religion and Violent Weather.There’s a certain kinship among those of us enamored of this relationship.Thuesen finds himself in Indiana, and I was in Wisconsin during my research and writing of Weathering the Psalms.I still haven’t reconciled myself with tornadoes, which were far too likely during my years in the Midwest.As Thuesen explains, there’s just something about them.Neither scientist nor theologian can fully explain them and the feeling of awe spans both disciplines.The book covers a wide range that includes early Protestant settlers and their ideas of providence as well as modern understandings of atmospheric dynamics.Still, the tornadoes…
Randomness also lies behind both tornadoes and science.The eerie function of quantum mechanics makes it seem if there’s a kind of willfulness to even particle physics.Too quick to join in are those among the evangelical camp that want to raise the flag of intelligent design.Thuesen interrogates their theology as he asks questions about both theodicy and global warming.Tornadoes are notorious for killing one person and leaving another right next door completely unscathed.Literally tearing families apart.Some of those we meet in these pages have turned to black-and-white religion for answers.Others tend to see things more in shades of gray.Does God send storms or merely allow them?Are victims singled out or simply unfortunate to be in the wrong place at the right time?America’s armchair theologians have their ready answers, but the weather remains unpredictable.
Readers will find interesting connections throughout.The celestial orientation of religion is pretty obvious as well.Even though modern believers don’t accept a heaven directly overhead, the orientation is still there.Their maddening obtuseness when it comes to global warming is more than just a little naive.Either that or they’re secretly gunning for armageddon.Whichever it is, Thuesen treats all comers with respect.Storms are awe-inspiring events.I recall standing on the edge of a farm field in Illinois and staring up at a lightning display in clouds towering thousands of feet above me.Looking out the south window one night as a cloud continuously lit by lightning made its slow way from west to east just south of where I stood.It was a religious experience.How could it not be?If any of this resonates with you, this is a book you ought to read.
It reminded me of a nightmare.The box, containing a book, was soaked through.A sudden thunderstorm had come before we knew the box was even there on the porch and memories of several boxes of rain-ruined books came back uninvited.Water and books just don’t mix.This particular book, I knew, was Peter Thuesen’s Tornado God, which I had ordered back in December and which has just been released.The irony wasn’t lost on me.My own second book, Weathering the Psalms, was a rather inelegant treatment on a similar topic and I’ll discuss Thuesen’s book in further detail here once I’ve read it.The point is that no matter how arrogant we become as a species the weather just remains beyond our control.The rainbow at the end of this small storm was that although the packaging was soaked, I found the box before the book itself had time to get wet.
My research, ever since my first book, has largely been about making connections.The weather is so quotidian, so common, that we discuss it without trepidation in casual conversation.It is, however, one of the most dangerous things on our planet.Severe storms kill both directly and indirectly.Cyclones, typhoons, and hurricanes can do so on a massive scale.So can their dramatic opposite, drought.Snow and melting ice caps also threaten life, as do floating chunks of ice in chilly oceans.It’s no wonder that the weather has been associated with gods from the earliest times.Even today literalists will say God is in the sky although meteorologists and astronomers can find no pearly gates when they look up.We just can’t shake the idea that weather is some kind of reflection of divine moodiness.
As weather becomes more and more extreme—it’s already a system that we’ve tipped seriously off balance—I suspect more and more people will start to assign it some kind of divine agency.This June we’ve already gone from shivering mornings with frost on the roof to nights when sleep is impossible because it’s so warm and humid, all within a matter of a couple of days.And this isn’t that unusual.Wait’l the gods really get angry.Weather is closely related to the water cycle, of course.We can learn about such things from books.We can’t take them out during a storm, however, and homeownership is all about keeping water out, or only in prescribed locations indoors.When the delivery driver leaves a box on your porch, however, it remains within reach of the storm gods.
One of my motivations, I have to admit, for re-reading Moby Dick this year was my wife’s gift of Ahab’s Rolling Sea: A Natural History of Moby-Dick, by Richard J. King.I wanted to read the latter, and I’d been toying with the idea of reading the former.So I did both.King’s book explores the oceanic world introduced by Herman Melville’s classic.The various creatures and natural phenomena mentioned by Melville are examined in the light of what we now know today and a few key finding emerge.We continue to know little about our oceans, even as we deplete them.The book is about whales, but not only about whales.Anyone who’s read Moby Dick knows the novel encompasses about a year at sea and describes the many sights experienced by a crew that sets out with few port calls and many long hours on the open ocean.
King does a fine job here.It’s particularly refreshing that he doesn’t hide from what he calls Melville’s natural theology.Many science writers fear to go to such places.Clearly Melville looked at the world through such lenses, however.The novel is one of the American philosophical masterpieces.Not only philosophical, but also theological.We can only guess what Melville’s true beliefs were, but he described the book to Nathaniel Hawthorne as wicked, and he knew that he was butting heads with orthodoxy throughout.Natural theology was, of course, an early form of science.Today scientists tend to be embarrassed by their heritage, but King shows that in the hands of a genius like Melville the results can be extraordinary.
This is also a disturbing book.Any volume dealing with the natural world these days likely is.The over-exploitation of the ocean, our use of it as a dumping ground, and global warming have combined to make the recovery of whales, as well as many other species, slow if not impossible.While commercial hunting of whales has largely ceased, the leviathans haven’t made much of a comeback, and several species are well on their way toward extinction.Sea birds are less common than they were when Melville was writing.We’ve influenced our world in such a bad way that we’ve likely set the clock ticking on the extinction of our own species.In a sense then, natural theology is facing its own apocalypse.Ahab’s Rolling Sea is not a dour book—it is a celebration of the world as it was once known, even if that world was less than just two hundred years ago.
It’s 5:30 a.m. the day after Memorial Day and I’m out jogging.I go out at this time because there’s not much likelihood of encountering many other people.Oh, I know others are awake, but few are out on the trail at this time of morning.I’m made a bit sad by the amount of trash I see along the path.Yesterday turned into a pleasant afternoon and I suspect lots of people were out here then.I even find the remains of some kind of homemade fireworks launcher, reminding me that it was supposed to be a patriotic holiday.I’ve seen an uptick in Trump signs around here and I wonder if it has anything to do with the rampant somebody elsism that I see strewn along my jogging trail.
Somebody elsism is the attitude that I can make a mess of things and let somebody else deal with it.(It’s my right as an American!)Maybe you’ve seen it too.The doggie doo-doo bags that are filled and left beside the trail for somebody else to pick up and dispose of.It’s my right to own a dog, and although I may feel compelled to bag its leavings, somebody else will have to throw it away.The idea’s pretty rampant.I’ve even found such things on my front sidewalk.I suspect this is a chapter in the myth of rugged individualism.I have a right, but somebody else has the duty.
Life itself is like this, I guess.We have to leave wills to help those left behind sort out the various messes we’ve made in our lifetimes.Still, the Trump administration has all been about somebody elsism.There is no such thing as controlled chaos.The coronavirus should have taught us that, if we hadn’t figured it out long before.Living together with other people requires a commitment to some basic things.As much as I dislike yardwork, you can’t own a house and let the plants take over.Your wild growth will seed somebody else’s weeds.I’d rather be sitting inside reading.It’s a holiday weekend and I have so little time to read during the week.Won’t somebody else take care of the grass that has been loving the rain and warmer temperatures?If only.So I’m out jogging early, but I have to wait until it’s light.There are so many things you can’t see before twilight kicks in, and unless somebody else picks them up I’m bound to step in them.
“Ne’er cast a cloot ’til May be oot,” as we heard it in Scotland, was a warning, loosely translated, to “never take off a layer until May is over.”That bit of lowland wisdom fits this spring pretty well.As I was donning full winter regalia for my jog this morning my thoughts naturally turned toward the weather.Memory distorts things, of course, but I keep coming back to my youth and thinking late May used to be reliably warm.There were chilly mornings from time to time, but yesterday held a touch of November in the air, as if the world somehow switched axes.Even the usual animals I see—deer, groundhogs, ducks, and the occasional fox or raccoon—all seemed to be sleeping in this morning.Who could blame them?
I postulated in Weathering the Psalms that the weather is somehow connected in our psyches with the divine.It’s God’s big blue heaven, after all.The weather is something we can only control in a bad way, though.While other people are fixated on surviving the coronavirus outbreak Trump has been quietly (although well documentedly) been relaxing environmental regulations so that when this is all over the beleaguered wealthy will have further income streams.And so global warming gets a head start on opening the doors of industry again.Those older than even me tell me the weather is far wilder than when they were young.Perhaps it’s just the Anthropocene hadn’t had time to settle in yet.Or maybe environmental degradation is spitting in the face of God.
First light is beautiful.I’ve been awakening before the sun for so many years now that I can’t recall what it’s like to stumble out of bed when blue begins edging the curtains.When it does I pull on my sneakers and head out the door.It’s easy to pretend out here that everything’s okay.When I do spot a deer, statue-still until I’m mere feet away, I wonder what life was like before the koyaanisqatsi of industrialization.When our human impact on the earth was humble, like that of our fellow animals.Now the weather has turned.It’s chilly out here this morning.I’m wearing a stocking cap and gloves and I’m watching my own breath forming the only clouds in the sky.The weather is a kind of psalm, I guess.I should pull on another clout and consider the wisdom of my elders.
I’m not sure I’ve read any fiction by Native American writers before.Owl Goingback has established a reputation among horror writers for his blending of Indian concepts and the horror genre.Coyote Rage is a novel that blends worlds.Coyote is, of course, a trickster figure.Upset with human abuse of the world and our indiscriminate killing of animals, he decides to wipe out the human race.Since all animals, including humans, plead their causes in the council in Galun’lati, the original world, he decides to take humans out by killing their last representative on the council, an elderly Native American in a nursing home.The fact that his victim has a daughter unaware of her heritage, means that Coyote has two people to hunt.As a shapeshifter able to travel between worlds, Coyote is a formidable enemy.
I don’t want to put any spoilers here, but it is worth considering the spiritual aspects of the story and how they blend so well into horror.I’ve commented before on how religion plays into the genre.Here is yet another example.Galun’lati is presented as reality.Not only do the animals talk there, it is a place that has its own dangers.It’s a forest world, appropriate to Native American experience and context.It’s very much a natural, supernatural world.The novel splits its time between Galun’lati and the New World—this world—as humans try to prevent their own extinction while most people have no idea there’s even any threat.Oblivious, we carry on. Religion can play into horror that way.While there are plenty of examples of purely secular horror, in my experience tales that have supernatural sources of threat are the scariest.
It may come back to the issue of ultimate concern.When our spiritual wellbeing is taken into account, we often approach it with some trepidation.The physical world feels so real and occupies much of our time.If, however, we need to add spiritual concerns on top of everything else, it can become overwhelming.What if physical threats, such as the coronavirus, and any other of a myriad of dangers, are only part of the picture?What if there is another entire world in which we also have a stake?If that world is beyond normal perception, we must rely on those who understand it.Much effective horror knows to tap into this area of natural uncertainty.Owl Goingback uses it remarkably well in crafting a horror tale that makes you think.
If you’re like me, and I sincerely hope you’re not, you spent your childhood worrying about killer bees.You see, I was stung a lot as a child, having stepped on a yellow-jacket nest hidden in an old tree stump.That event was one of the most formative of my life.Oh, I act brave, shooing wasps and carpenter bees away, but that’s all a front.I was repairing a piece of furniture out in the garage over the weekend and a big old bee got in and started buzzing around.It drove me to distraction.I once had a bee land on my back and sting me for no apparent reason.Alone in the garage I had no one to watch my back.I decided to do some repairs back in the house instead. Let it have the garage.
During this pandemic, then, the last thing I needed to hear was that “murder hornets” have made it to the United States.And Republicans are bad enough!The murder hornet is responsible for double-digit deaths in its native land, and now my childhood nightmares of killer bees have reemerged.We had a warming trend over the weekend.There were so many wasps and bees around outside that I could even hear their buzzing with the windows safely closed.Insects are the future, of course.They adapt better and more quickly than we do, and there are many, many more of them.The Bible often uses insects as vehicles of divine wrath.No wonder horror movies often make use of them!
Image credit: SecretDisc, via Wikimedia Commons
More rational minds soothe us, saying that murder hornets seldom attack people or pets.If provoked, however, they can do so fatally.Perhaps it’s the anger of stinging insects that bothers me the most.The yellow-jackets that attacked me certainly seemed angry.My stepping on their home was an innocent accident.It was also a learning experience.I don’t step on old stumps any more.I haven’t since the incident.Such early traumas can stay with you all your life, and the buzzing co-inhabitants of the earth, I have to remind myself, have as much right to be here as we do.In cases like killer bees, we invented them.When we play Doctor Frankenstein nature responds in kind.The monster was angry.Bees, wasps, and hornets may be intelligent but they can’t reason out the motives of bumbling humans who accidentally disturb them.And now a bigger variety has moved in.It’s probably best to keep calm and not get anybody angry.
I recently saw Koyaanisqatsi for the first time.This was initially prompted from an excellent blog post over on Verbomania, suggesting words to describe our current crisis.I had never heard of the movie before.In case you’re in that same jolly boat, Koyaanisqatsi is a feature-length film from 1982 with no plot and no spoken lines.A score by Philip Glass underlies, and sometimes dominates, images of an earth beautiful in desolation (the Badlands, Monument Valley, Grand Canyon) juxtaposed with technology.The images are fascinating and disturbing.The title translates to something like “life out of balance” and the images of sausages being mass produced cross-cut with humans being lifted by escalators speaks volumes.The long, slow footage of 747s on the ground was enough to make me wonder if they really can fly.
Frenetic is perhaps the word that best captures images of life in the early 1980s.The images of Grand Central during rush hour show just how like ants we are.On the other hand, some of the scenes of people waiting for trains show a high percentage of them reading—we have perhaps lost ground in the last four decades.The mechanized, technologized way of life has perhaps made us something less than we could be.There are people in the movie, but not many of them look happy. Back when I commuted into New York I can’t think of any reason I would’ve been smiling on my way too or from work.Crowded streets, often smelling bad.Harried and harassed even before I reached the revolving door to my building.I watched the movie that was a slice of my life and wondered if so much of my time commuting couldn’t have been better spent.
Of course, I did read on the bus.On average I was able to finish about forty books more per year than I do now.Even home owning participates in koyaanisqatsi.It’s spring during an epidemic.Cold, yet rainy, the grass continues to grow and there’s no sunny time off work to mow it.It’s now May and it feels like we haven’t moved since March.Watching Koyaanisqatsi during the pandemic was itself a haunting experience.All those crowds.So many people bunched so closely together.I don’t miss the crowds.The cross-cut images of computer chips and city layouts made me wonder just what it’s all about.The SARS-CoV-2 reality has plunged me into a philosophical mood.I’m hoping when the crisis is over we might strive for a better sense of balance.
It’s difficult to say, since I don’t get outside much, but reports have come in that the earth is healing itself while we’ve been sequestered.Rivers usually polluted have begun to run clean.Smoke-smuggered skies have turned blue.Animals have begun to explore human-made environments abandoned while we all shelter in place.Could there be a more poignant statement about the reason for Earth Day?If our worst behaviors are ceased even for a little while, the damage we do to our home planet begins to come undone.To me that has been the most profound hope brought to light by this crisis.Living more simply might be a virtue after all.
From NASA’s photo library
Going without can be difficult.Every time the fleeting thought comes that I need to run to the store for this or that—and I’ve been taught that shopping is normal and natural and good for everyone—I have to stop and weigh the options.Do I really need whatever it is?Can I do without it?Even bank accounts, for those fortunate enough to be able to keep working, have started to recover.The frenzy we normally live under—earning money to keep buying things we don’t really need—is suddenly cast into perspective.Times like this Earth Day I think of Henry David Thoreau.Sometimes we like to laugh about our American saints, but his desire to live more simply does have appeal.
Like many students who find themselves in Boston, I once made pilgrimage to Walden Pond.The day I went there with some friends I believe we were the only car in the lot.We lived simply in the way that grad students do, being under the sword of educational debts and loans, but we had come to see the place where nature had called one harried philosopher to solitude.I knew, even as I stood by the marker of the cabin site that we couldn’t all live like this and still enjoy the benefits of medical science and technology (such as it was in the 1980s).Perhaps it is possible, however, to reflect on better ways of living now that we’ve all been placed in a kind of enforced solitude.I’ve begun reading more poetry.I’ve started painting again.Life has, in the midst of a pandemic, begun to feel more healthy.It’s Earth Day.Normally I’d be looking for an opportunity to join a community cleaning event, or even to go out and pick up trash on my own.Since these are ill-advised, I stand before my bookshelf and reach for Walden instead.
We are all, I think, looking for hope.Probably due to the way I was raised, I often seek signs.There’s no way to know if said signs are mere coincidences or the more intense variety known as synchronicities, yet we have a hopeful sign here at home.On our front porch we have some plant hangers.Spring crept up on us this year and we haven’t got around to putting any pansies in them yet.The other day when I was stepping out to get the mail, I noticed feathers in one of them and feared there’d been a bird-related accident there.As I took a step toward the planter, the head of a mourning dove popped up.She blinked at me curiously, but didn’t fly away.I knew then that she had built a nest in the as-yet unused planter and she was sitting on her eggs.
Monday was fiercely windy around here.And rainy.I wondered how any birds could fly in such weather.A mourning dove flew up—perhaps one of the pair on our porch—and landed on the electric wire leading to our house.The wire was swaying and bucking so furiously that the dove constantly had to shift and fluff and flutter just to stay in place.The poor bird was in constant motion.Then it showed a sign of animal intelligence.There’s a much larger wire that runs down our street, from which other houses are supplied.It’s more stable in the wind due to its girth.The dove flew up to that wire instead.There it was able to perch without having to constantly adjust itself to the gusts.Peaceful and intelligent.That’s what the world needs.I have hope.
The dove has long been a sign of peace.It’s understood that way in the Bible.It was the dove that brought an olive twig to Noah, indicating that although all he could see was water there was, somewhere, dry land.These days we need to be reminded that although it seems that the storm will last forever, even hurricanes eventually exhaust themselves.The dove, clearly not happy about the horrendous wind buffeting it on that wire, nevertheless persisted in a kind of stoic optimism that things are as they should be.There is great wisdom in the natural world.If we can get to a window we can see it playing out before our very eyes.Now when I step out the door, I glance at the dove, and she looks back at me. We wink at each other.She doesn’t fly away, for she understands.She has a wisdom to which we all should aspire.
It’s a dilemma.I face it every year.I don’t have green to wear and it’s St. Patrick’s Day.For your average run-of-the-mill citizen, this might not be an issue—but I do have an Irish heritage (in part), and so it’s a heartfelt concern.The reason I don’t have green has less to do with fashion (consider the source!) than with my clothing purchasing practices.First of all, I like to make my clothes last.Fabrics can be quite durable.They aren’t mechanical and therefore don’t break down often.I don’t live a rough-and-tumble life, so tears aren’t really a problem.The end result is that I keep my clothes as long as they’re functional.When they begin to wear out I go to the store and examine the clearance racks until I find something in my size.That means color selection is often a matter of very limited options.
Once in a great while I have landed something green.I still remember a green shirt I had in college.It served me well for more than four St. Patrick’s Days.It long ago succumbed to overuse, however, because I wore it on other days as well.And let’s face it, when I make one of those infrequent trips to the clothiers’ shops, this particular holiday’s not on my mind.Unless, of course, I go shopping in March.Back when I lived in Boston it was easy to get your Irish on.I bought a bright green silky (I don’t know if it was real silk) tie with white shamrocks on it.It was probably down at Faneuil Hall.It had been a bit outlandish to wear to work in New York City, though.Indeed, at work staid dress was by far the most common code.Consequently it hung unused in my closet for years.
When we moved a couple summers back, I noticed my green tie had faded to bronze.I thought it went the other way around.In any case, my last truly green clothing article was no longer green.Yes, it still has shamrocks, but I’d feel even more ridiculous trying to rock a bronze tie and pass myself off as Irish.It won’t even pass for gold.Of course, I work from home.I’ve practiced social distancing long before it was a trend or a government mandate, whichever it is.The only people to see my lack of green would be my wife and daughter, and perhaps a Jehovah’s Witnesses that might stop by.But still, even minor celebrations are anticipated at times such as this.Although I won’t be going out today I’ll probably be spending some time in my closet and reflecting on the true heritage of my Irish forebears.
Being invisible, the wind is easily forgotten.Until it begins to really blow.I don’t know about where you are, but this past week was a very windy one around here.Thursday especially.My office has a couple of windows and each view shows different kinds of trees.The south window reveals only a stolid oak or maple in a neighboring back yard a few doors down.I don’t know this neighbor and I’ve never been close enough to get a good look at his deciduous tree.Its leaves are down, of course, and although its branches moved in Thursday’s gusts there was never really a question of it coming down.Trunk stout and sturdy, it has stood through many windstorms and will likely see many more.
My west window opens to some lofty pines across the street.At least sixty feet tall, their trunks, like many coniferous species, stand fairly straight.The way these trees bent in the wind worried me as a home owner.And as a human being.You see, I have done some woodwork.A guy with as many books as we have either runs himself broke on buying bookshelves or learns to make his own.I’ve spent plenty of my money on one-inch pine boards—the standard shelving material.The 1 x 10, which is really 3/4 of an inch by 9 and 3/4, is the usual bookshelf board.Not even an inch thick, it isn’t easily bent.Incorporated into the trunk of a tree, it’s absolutely immobile if I press against it.I’ve tried to move a mature tree trunk. Even a good-size branch.Mere humans can’t.And yet I see these very same trunks swaying like they’re waltzing with the wind.
No wonder the weather has always been associated with the gods.I mean, on Thursday last I saw these giants in the earth bending in arborescent obeisance.The wind is easily forgotten.As I worked on Weathering the Psalms, I easily sketched out the chapters on rain, lightning, and even snow.But wind.If you exegete a storm often the most damaging aspect is the wind.Hurricanes and tornadoes damage due to their great wind velocity (the former also from impressive rain dumps).What we call EF5 (or F5) tornadoes are so violent that any instrument directly in their path can’t survive its onslaught.Winds swirling over 300 miles per hour are pretty much incomprehensible.And yet when they dissipate, those violent winds are once again invisible.Isn’t that just like the gods?