Eclectic Amateur

I learned today that the cider mill in Pettisville, Ohio is no more.

One of my most vivid and favorite memories from childhood is apple cider time on my father’s farm in Archbold. This is what happened every fall: Dad would drive the pickup truck into the back yard, and we’d fill the bed with apples. Lots of apples. Red ones from the red apple tree (still not sure what variety, Jonathan maybe?), yellow ones from the yellow apple tree (Yellow Delicious), and green ones from the green apple tree (Granny Smith). These were no stunted dwarf apple trees, but full-sized trees as God intended for kid-climbing.

And then we’d go down the road a few miles and get our apples pressed into cider to take home. I have no idea how old the cider mill was — older than me, possibly older than my Dad. For all I knew, it had been there forever.

It was only about four years ago that we were able to repeat the ritual, taking the few bushels of apples from our small tree, adding them to the reds from my father (the yellow and green trees having succumbed some years ago) and to the apples my cousin got from a friend who was not going to harvest their tress that year. It was some of the best cider we ever had.

Or will again, perhaps. Apparantly, the Man From The Government Who’s Here to Help™ came around, and said that they couldn’t press cider anymore without pasteurization, which put them out of business.

Funny, I hadn’t noticed any epidemics. But I guess Sharkey Knows Best™.

One more small, local business enabling local farmers (and just regular citizens with backyards big enough for trees) to provide for themselves rather than rely on MegaGlobalAgriCorp™ to bring in apples from Chile or Hungary or whereever for sale in the local SuperDuperStuffMart™ — gone.

Score one for Mordor.

Obligatory links:

• Cider rules at this house: Story on an Ohio apple farmer who says he’ll go out of business rather than pasteurize. Notes that there are about 50 producers in Ohio who don’t pasturize.
• Issues in Food Safety: Apple Cider: An Iowa State Extension Service report.
  

  Many apple producers may go out of business rather than invest in pasteurization equipment or risk problems of potential microbial hazards.

  … many producers would face significant costs ($25,000) required by pasteurization …

  There have been no E. coli contamination problems in apples or apple cider in Iowa.

  … producers will go out of business in a manner similar to small meat processors.

  Do we as a society have a responsibility to keep small farmers such as apple growers in Iowa in business? How is the ethical principle of justice involved in this situation?

  How indeed?

My article Coverage Measurement and Profiling was published by Linux Journal.

It’s in the online edition only, no dead trees involved. Still, I’m pretty happy about getting published.

Now, if I can manage to do this on a regular basis rather than once every blue moon …

There was a plaque on the trail honoring “Detroit’s Own Polar Bears.”

No, not Ursus maritimus. The other “Polar Bears” — members of the 339th Infantry, 1st Battalion of the 310th Engineers, the 337th Ambulance Co., and the 337th Field Hospital of the Army’s 85th division, many of whom hailed from Michigan.

I had hear rumor before of American troops in Russia after the Russian revolution. But this was part of one of those college political arguments, presented with the perspective of “of course the Soviets were belligerant; the Evil Americans™ tried to take over at the Revolution and they never forgot.” Filed, stored, taken with a large grain of salt.

And now here I am looking at a memorial marker for the men who fought and died doing just that. It’s amazing where one picks up these tidbits of history, because it sure isn’t in the schoolroom. (Have I mentioned lately that we homeschool?)

Besides the plaque in the Detroit Zoo, there is a a “Detroit’s Own” Polar Bear Memorial in Troy. There is an online summary of the Polar Bear Expedition hosted by the University of Michigan.

Long sad story short: In the waning days of The Great War (to end all wars), President Wilson was persuaded to lend American support to a multinational attempt to defeat the Bolshevik faction in Russia which was in the process of taking over in the chaos following the fall of the Tsar. They were under British command, along with French and Canadian troops, and were originally (or ostensibly) sent to re-open an eastern front against the Germans. Fighting the Bolsheviks was what actually happened. Of course, morale was terrible when their fighting continued after the German defeat, and (as we know from the rest of 20th-century history) the Bolsheviks plagued Russia and beyond for quite some time.

Some of the men were able to return to Russia (now the U.S.S.R.) in the twenties to recover the bodies of fallen troops; these are now interred at the Troy memorial.

It is a pity they did not succeed. And a double pity that the men who tried are not more honored and remembered.

“[Marxism will] in a generation or so [go] into the limbo of most heresies, but meanwhile it will have poisoned the Russian Revolution”

— G. K. Chesterton, ILN, 7/19/19.

(or, “Isn’t it great when technology shows us things we didn’t care to see?”)

The Frey family made a pilgrimage to the Detroit Zoo last week. (“Field trip!”) It was our first visit to the new Arctic Ring of Life exhibit.

One of the stations showed some useful equipment used in the far north, including a thermal camera. We had great fun looking at the heat images, doing the trick of making “handprints” that show up for a while on the camera before fading, etc.

And then, we tried to get educational. Big mistake. I noticed that David’s head fairly glowed for the camera. This makes sense; the kid has a buzz cut and is no doubt loosing lots of body heat up top. So, I pointed this out, and got Josh, who’s got a thick head of hair on him, to get into the camera’s field as well. Josh’s head showed hardly any heat loss. So, we used this about how the body sheds heat and practical impacts of haircuts on comfort.

So far, so good. The problem comes when I get under the camera. Oh, sure, I know my forehead’s a bit taller than it was back in high school, but overall I think my hair looks mostly the same. I even still comb it the same way.

But, the thermal image shows a huge heat loss out of the top of my head, completly and utterly obvious to anyone looking at the camera.

Drat.

Of course, the effect is not helped by the burst of laughter this triggers from my lovely, wonderful, and almost always tactful and diplomatic wife.

Thank you, thermal imaging. Have I mentioned lately my neo-Luddite and quasi-Amish tendencies?

When words fail, poetry sometimes suffices:

...

And I am sickened by complicity in my race.

To kill in hot savagery like a beast

is understandable.  It is forgivable and curable.

But to kill by design, deliberately, without wrath,

that is the sullen labor that perfects Hell.

...

The morning's news drives sleep out of the head

at night.  Uselessness and horror hold the eyes

open to the dark.  Weary, we lie awake

in the agony of the old giving birth to the new

without assurance that the new will be better.

I look at my son, whose eyes are like a young god's,

they are so open to the world.

I look at my sloping fields now turning

green with the young grass of April.  What must I do

to go free?  I think I must put on

a deathlier knowledge, and prepare to die

rather than enter into the design of man's hate...

Wendell Berry, The Morning’s News, from Farming: A Handbook

And I can taste You in the Bread and in the Wine

There You spread Your feast of joy before me

And like the man who had fallen

On Elisha's bones

I'm alive again

...

Rich Mullins, ‘… And I Love You’

William Luse recently spurred me to comment on matters of the Eucharist. (“Fools rush in …”)

Supposedly, Rich Mullins was near to converting to Catholicism before his untimely death. I wonder, was this song inspired by his hungering and thirsting for the Body and Blood that he could not (yet) have?

No. I shouldn’t wonder. I know that he was.

“There was a sense of urgency,” said the priest. “He told me, ‘This may sound strange, but I HAVE to receive the body and blood of Christ.’ I told him, ‘That doesn’t sound strange at all. That sounds wonderful.’ … Of course, I’ll always remember that conversation. Rich finally sounded like he was at peace with his decision.”

That part, from Terry Mattingly’s article, I already knew. This I just found tonight, from a concert transcript (Plymouth, Michigan Concert Review: Temple Baptist Church, August 15, 1997)

Thanks so much! We’re gonna do a couple of songs now that you might not have heard because they’re from a musical that I wrote with Beaker and with Mitch, and I guess some of you have probably heard rumors that we started a religious order… (laughter from audience) (Rich chuckles) and they’re probably true! Because the truth is, we’d all like to be Franciscans, but we don’t even have the guts to really be Catholics. (laughter from audience) It’s hard on you, but I do love, as Mitch and Beaker do, Francis of Assisi…

“… don’t even have the guts to really be Catholics …” (I know the feeling.)

And to think, Winds of Heaven, Stuff of Earth was released in 1988. That’s quite a long time to be hungering and thirsting.

God bless you, Rich. Enjoy the Banquet. And do remember to pray for those of us who live in time.

Psalm 49 (1-13) was the Psalm for last Sunday in the ECUSA lectionary.

I am finding verse 4 in particular a great comfort this week. We are in evil days indeed, but hope is a virtue and despair is a sin.

Psalm 49  Audite haec, omne



1  Hear this, all you peoples;

hearken, all you who dwell in the world, *

 you of high degree and low, rich and poor together.



2  My mouth shall speak of wisdom, *

 and my heart shall meditate on understanding.



3  I will incline my ear to a proverb *

 and set forth my riddle upon the harp.



4  Why should I be afraid in evil days, *

 when the wickedness of those at my heels surrounds me,



5  The wickedness of those who put their trust in their goods, *

 and boast of their great riches?



6  We can never ransom ourselves, *

 or deliver to God the price of our life;



7  For the ransom of our life is so great, *

 that we should never have enough to pay it,



8  In order to live for ever and ever, *

 and never see the grave.



9  For we see that the wise die also;

like the dull and stupid they perish *

 and leave their wealth to those who come after them.



10  Their graves shall be their homes for ever,

their dwelling places from generation to generation, *

 though they call the lands after their own names.



11  Even though honored, they cannot live for ever; *

 they are like the beasts that perish.



12  Such is the way of those who foolishly trust in themselves, *

 and the end of those who delight in their own words.



13  Like a flock of sheep they are destined to die;

Death is their shepherd; *

 they go down straightway to the grave.



14  Their form shall waste away, *

 and the land of the dead shall be their home.



15  But God will ransom my life; *

 he will snatch me from the grasp of death.



16  Do not be envious when some become rich, *

 or when the grandeur of their house increases;



17  For they will carry nothing away at their death, *

 nor will their grandeur follow them.



18  Though they thought highly of themselves while they lived, *

 and were praised for their success,



19  They shall join the company of their forebears, *

 who will never see the light again.



20  Those who are honored, but have no understanding, *

 are like the beasts that perish.

Some of the descendants of Aaron and Anna Frey made pilgrimmage to West Unity, Ohio today to do the kind of things you do at family reunions of large (over 450), far-flung clans. You know, gorge on potluck food, play “guess the name” and “show off the [grand]kids”, catch up on who’s doing whatnot, etc.

Most of my observations are of no interest to anyone outside that particular circle.

But: there is one thing.

The singing.

I forget, and then I return to another Frey reunion. The singing. A number from The Mennonite Hymnal, a title, and a starting note from a pitchpipe or a piano … and a cappella harmony emerges. From memory this year — other years there have been copies of the hymnal available, this year I saw barely two or three. But the songs (in 4-part harmony) were still there.

The older generations (my father’s and grandfather’s) know the songs, that is. My generation (and younger) do not, for the most part. I know some of the melodies, and a very few of the harmonies. I usually can pull it off if I have the music or can key into a strong voice to follow.

Some of this is probably due to increasing religious diversity as the generations go forward — the family is no longer uniformly Mennonite, no longer shaped by the same church, worship, and music. But this can not be the whole of it. One of the best singers of these hymns is my great-uncle Charles, who is not Mennonite, but a retired Presbyterian minister. I manage as well as I do, and I haven’t been a Mennonite for decades. Younger men and women who I know are cradle Mennonites look about uncomfortably and don’t join in the songs of their birthright. So it appears that the break is generational, not denominational.

I realized later the parallel to what I felt hearing the music again, and not knowing how many more years it has left. I understood how Frodo and Sam must have felt, hearing elvensong passing in the night, being pierced by its beauty yet saddened by the knowledge that this ancient melody is passing out of Middle-earth even as they heard it.

Then Elrond and Galadriel rode on; for the Third Age was over, and the Days of the Rings were passed, and an end was come of the story and song of those times. With them went many Elves of the High Kindred who would no longer stay in Middle-earth; and among them, filled with a sadness that was yet blessed and without bitterness, rode Sam, and Frodo, and Bilbo …

Courage! Battles may be lost, but Mordor shall never triumph.

The United States Senate consists of 100 Senators.

Yesterday’s cloture vote on the Federal Marriage Amendment had 98 of 100 Senators voting.

Any guesses as to the two playing hooky? Anybody? Anybody? Bueller?

That’s right! Senator John Kerry and Senator John Edwards.

Wouldn’t want to go on the record before November, would you, Senators?

Cowards.

So last night, my youngest boy asks me “Daddy, can bears have ‘bear’ feet outside?”

Answer: “Of course, bears always have ‘bear’ feet.” (Cue insane preschooler giggling.)

And my heart swells with paternal pride. He’s just made his very first pun.

Did I mention that he’s only just three (plus two months)? I didn’t think punning was supposed to start that young.