Natural Beauty and Where We Find It

Beauty is not intended to be viewed in abundance. It’s too much. Less is more.

(Who am I kidding? Even I don’t believe that completely.) Can we agree that beauty in small doses and in unexpected places is more available to us than grandeur and spectacle?

The Antidote to Pristine

Think of the closest cluster of people to your home. It may be a crossroads, a commune, a village, or a city. It is a place of inherently messy people. We people are the antidote to a pristine condition. Here’s how we function.

People—in small groups or large—come into an area, tear up the earth, create artificial walls and a roof to block out the elements, and call it improvement. We don’t often work with nature. Rather we recreate it to our liking. That’s what I meant about being the antidote to pristine-ness. We don’t stop there.

When we are warm and dry, we install sidewalks. We plant trees. Beside the sidewalks. We scratch our heads when that results in crooked, cracked, ankle-twisting trails past our improvements. Improvements which now need a new coat of paint, at the very least, and have you seen those weeds? The ones in the areas around the house where we recreated our own miniaturized versions of prairies and pastures? What are we going to do about those? 

Stewards and Others

Wait! This was not about maintenance; it was about beauty. But, since we’re here …

Some people are gifted stewards. They have a vision to create order, or even ordered disorder, in planting beds. They wisely choose their plantings and we feel good each time we pass their homes. Their lawns are well tended. Their driveways are sealed and swept. Their vehicles are in the garage. All we see is in good repair. The overall effect is one of beauty.

We don’t all fit that mold. Some of us, based either on necessity or inclination, focus on other things. We are okay with the fungus slowly spreading on the shady side of the house. If we roll up the hose it will be that much heavier to drag out the next time we use it. We are disinclined to infringe upon the right of weeds to flourish.

Before passing judgment, consider that we may not share the same perceptions. You see peeling paint. We see the way the house was when we moved into it. Memory trumps reality. This explains why we still think some clothes look good on us. Oddly, if we believe strongly enough it doesn’t become true, but we are much more successful in carrying out the notion. That’s why bib overalls, a kilt, silk shirts, and a cowboy hat are still in my wardrobe. Easy now. That’s a selection, not an ensemble.

Coexistence

Beauty and weeds can coexist and both can thrive. And that’s my point. You thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you? In this mess that surrounds any congregation of people, splashes of beauty happen. Some are intentional and others are spontaneous. They are remarkable because they are least expected where we find them. A volunteer rose can sinuously wind its way through a rusting chain link fence. Sunlight and clouds can reflect from a puddle atop an abandoned fuel drum. Even the weeds have seed pods bursting open and sending a burst of fluffy missionaries abroad on the next gust of wind.

One thing(s)

I suggest that these glimpses of beauty would be just another member of the choir if we didn’t find them in solitude. It is their very singularity we find most attractive. I find this true of people as well. I don’t know anybody who truly has it all. But everybody I know has at least one trait that I find winsome. Their laugh, their loyalty, or their intense attention to a duty or a cause is their rose in the fencerow for me. Their kindness, their intellect, or even their fashion sense attracts me. They may have more than one excellent aspect, and that’s a bonus. But just one will keep me coming back to them like one good golf shot will lure me back to the links. I love the unexpected.

If you don’t know what your one thing is, ask somebody. You may be surprised. Once you find it, learn how to nourish it. While you’re at it, why not make a list of the ‘one thing’ in other people? After all, they may ask you what theirs is.

Michael Angelo Caruso tells his audiences to practice shallow compliments and deep compliments. Shallow compliments are still valuable. They’re just more about the surface of a person. “I love that scarf. What a good color for you! You have pretty eyes.” Hearing those compliments may quickly boost a person’s mood. How much more would a deep compliment accomplish? “You are such a kind person. I never doubt your integrity. You are a terrific example of faithfulness.”

I believe ‘one things’ are like rainbows. Sometimes they will catch our attention and make us stop in wonder. Other times we’ll miss them entirely. If we want to be an accomplished spotter we need to be intentional about looking for them. Let’s compliment the people around us and look for their deeper gifts. Let’s let them know we notice. Let’s become stewards of encouragement, attracting people to ‘drive past our yards’ because that’s where they feel affirmed and valued. By the way, I really like that you read this all the way to the end. Thank you for persevering.

The Dark Ages

It is Fall here in God’s Country, roughly defined as that area bounded by Michigan, Ohio, Kentucky, and Illinois, but excluding a few independent-minded counties in the southwest of the state. Yes, it's Autumn, or as we prefer to call it, The Dark Ages.

At issue is who we want to be. Growing up in the Midwest we were seldom on the cutting edge of anything. We got our fashion and our culture second-hand. When the cool kids on either coast were done with them, we were next. If we were one up on anybody, it might have been the kids living in the Great Plains, but we’ll never know since we didn’t get out much.

Despite the privileges of being raised in tightly knit communities and having the advantage of good, healthy living, we wanted more. And that more was at either extreme of the country. California was a bit too extreme, but we could do New York. That was the ticket. When the New York Stock Exchange opened, we wanted to be waiting at the door. When the ball dropped in Times Square at the first second of the New Year, we just knew it was meant for us, too. The only way to make that happen was to share something we all had. Time.

So today when it is 5 a.m. in Washington (the one on the Potomac) you can just bet it is 5 a.m. in Lafayette (the one here, for Pete’s sake), because Washington and Lafayette were tightly bonded when this country was in labor. When it is noon in An-napolis, it is noon in India-napolis, because the ‘napolises notoriously stick together. And when it is 9 p.m. in Princeton, New Jersey, well it is only 8 p.m. in Princeton, Indiana because they’re part of the independent bunch that thinks Chicago does a better job of telling time.

You know, those feisty people in the lower left-hand corner of the state may have it right. As in correct. I rose early this morning and decided to make the most of the extra time. I gathered my photography gear and headed to a local park to capture the sunrise. Here is what I got.

It should have been there, or at least close. Just look at the time!

Aren’t such things on a schedule? In Spring of this year, it all worked as it should. I was living between Baltimore, Maryland and Washington, DC at the time. When the Standard Time, as defined by The People of the East (with whom I identified), called for a sunrise then it was so. When we were done with that day and the local almanac said “so long, Sunshine,” that was so as well. Meanwhile, in the Midwest, I expect we had buyer’s remorse because neither event was true. We couldn’t raise the sun on time in the morning and putting it to bed was just as difficult.

Look here. Would you want to sell mukluks in Miami, Florida? Probably not. It might be the right product, but the wrong place. I contend that we are in the right place, but the wrong time.

Hmm. Right Place, Wrong Time.
(Perhaps not precisely the same message, but it grooves, doesn’t it?)

We’re asking quite a bit of the burning orb, aren’t we? “Emerge over the horizon and illuminate everything from Maine to Key West and all the way to the Illinois line. But don’t shine over there. Got it? Okay, go!” That even felt silly to type. I can only imagine what it felt like to write it into a resolution.

Now we ask the majority of the state’s citizens to change their processes and lifestyles to accommodate a decision rather than changing the decision to accommodate Nature—which shows little inclination to change on our behalf. I’m not saying it’s right and I’m not saying it’s wrong, but I am saying it’s silly and fairly easily remedied, should we decide to. Meanwhile, would you turn on that light, please?

Sturdy Stock

When you do what you do, it's just doing what you do. Some people humbly accept things about themselves that are extraordinary to many of us. For instance, I heard this story from Teeby, one of two brothers.

Teeby finally got to go away on vacation. If you don't farm, that may not seem like a big deal. It can be. It was for Teeby and, as a consequence, it was for Emby, Teeby's brother.

While Teeby was digging his toes into the snow-white sands on the beach of Florida's panhandle, Emby was minding the farm.  This meant feeding the cattle and waiting for one of the cows to calve. Emby did all his chores, then went to take care of Teeby's. And there it was. The cow had calved. Emby went into the stall to feed the cow and to check on the calf.

Before I continue, you should know that cattle are a lot like people you may have encountered. Some are unattractive and some are quite comely. Some are well-dispositioned and some are, well, squirrelly is a term I've heard used. And sometimes the blessings from the Almighty are not visited twice upon the same individual. For instance, you may find that the plain-looking are the beneficiaries of great wisdom or common sense, while the stunningly attractive are bereft of both. Such is the case with cattle.

One cow's abnormally passionate nurturing instinct was nearly Emby's undoing when he stepped between the calf and the mother. She went nuts. The rest of it was kind of a blur to Emby, and thus to Teeby, so you can imagine how much detail I can offer. Suffice it to say that the result was a panting, emotionally overwrought cow, a bruised, aching Emby with a torqued back and at least one broken rib, and sadly a trampled, lifeless calf.

Teeby returned home to a large hole in the ground covered by freshly turned earth and a brother none too pleased with him or his cow.

"Well, that's a shame," you might say. "But what does it have to do with sturdy stock?"

I met Teeby and Emby a week later to celebrate adding 250 bales of hay to the collection already in the hayloft. The snag was that we couldn't celebrate until we put them there.

Emby stayed below for round one. One-by-one he threw the contents of one wagonload of hay onto the spikes of the elevator and the long chain pulled the gears until the bales slid into the hayloft. Teeby and I stacked. So far so good. Two guys who exited high school before Jimmy Carter left office stacked bales while Teeby's older brother stayed below and unloaded a wagonload of hay by himself.

For round two we switched. Teeby took over unloading duties. Emby and I were in the hayloft receiving while Teeby tossed 60-lb bales through the tiny window like it was nothing. In fact, Emby and I had a hard time keeping up. We told Teeby we were pacing ourselves so he would get rest breaks. We lied.

Finally, we got the second wagon unloaded and convened at the well. Emby and Teeby have a well outside the barn with some of the coolest, finest spring water to be had. It tastes good before the work begins, but it is a splendid libation and a bracing sponge bath when the work is complete. After drinking, dousing, and de-dusting ourselves, we called it a day. That meant that, for me, it was a day. For them, it was one more chore marked off the list, with quite a few to follow.

Three men. Two wagons. One broken rib and a sore back. Sturdy stock, I tell you. These farmers are made of sturdy stock.

Surprise. No, everybody. Surprise!

Let me tell you about cool friends. Cool friends will invite you out and not tell you where you're going. You have to trust them. But they will make certain you have a good time.

Let me tell you about doubly cool friends. Doubly cool friends will invite you out, tell you where to meet them, but pull a bait and switch to make sure you have a special day.

Now let me tell you about triply cool friends. Triply cool friends will be cool friends who organize a group outing, then be doubly cool friends to make sure you and your friends get there, and then make it all one big shindig.

The Ringleaders

I know all this because of my agent. Let's just call her Mom. She got me a gig that would be nearly all women and where I would be fed. I nearly jumped at it before I asked what was involved. It sounded pretty good to me already. Here was the catch. According to my agent, I would need to lead the group in singing Happy Birthday. Mom sometimes forgets I'm a bass player and that I rarely know the chords to anything. Also, I don't sing in public. I don't have restraining orders or anything, I just make it a point not to as a charitable act. I said yes.

On the Right ... My Agent

The event--the doubly cool event--was for a friend I'd just met last weekend. I don't want to infer that the event was decadent, but our friend is celebrating a few decades. Today. How many is immaterial. At some point, we all deserve a party. And so it was done.

It was my first solo gig and I played a D chord. The song kind of took off by itself after that. All to the good. Later, I was asked to speak about my blog. This blog. The one you're reading. So I did. And I told the gathered crowd how fulfilling it is to be able to post the occasional picture and also tell the story behind it. Like this.

Some people are fussy about having their picture taken. I didn't pay much attention to that. However, as a husband, the father of a daughter, and a brother between two lovely sisters, I'm aware that I should be particularly careful about showing people in a bad light. If your picture is in the following group and you don't care for it, please thank me next time you see me. I've already removed the less flattering ones.

Today was beastly hot and humid, which is not atypical for southern Indiana. We just call it Summer. Thankfully, there was a pleasant breeze blowing at the Don Gress Pavilion beside the lake at Eastside Park. When I arrived, people were hanging decorations, setting up the serving table, getting the drinks ready, or supervising.

Soon afterward, we had appropriately serenaded the birthday girl, prayed over the food, then made it disappear. After my brief explanation of blogging and an invitation to visit here, I was off to help set up for the 4-H fair. This was at the request of the only other carrier of a Y chromosome in attendance.

The Man

Here are some candid photographs of the people who attended. 

 

 

  

 

This group was nearby, if not exactly in attendance. I'm a bit envious. A quick paddle would have felt good today.

I've no idea if this one ever thought it was a duck.

And finally, a fowl version of a bad hair day.

So there it is. A brief catalog of the festivities, some photos, and this. If you are not already blogging, I encourage you to try it. It doesn't have to be every day. I'm strong testimony on this point. But it's a nice way to share some of the goodness of life, which includes really cool friends. Get one. Be one.

Friday Night at Dinky's

One of the prime cultural events in Daviess County is Friday nights at Dinky's. If I were to describe Dinky's it would sort of be Craigslist--The Live Version. It's where community gathers on a Friday night. And by community, based on the license plates I saw, I mean Daviess County, Indiana, southeastern Illinois, and northwestern Kentucky. Since Dinky's is 45 minutes east of the Illinois border and at least an hour from the nearest part of Kentucky (if you take those speed limit signs as well-intended suggestions), you might say Dinky's is kind of a big deal. And you might be right.

Dinky's Auction Center
9084 E 550 N, Montgomery, IN 47558

Your first impression will probably be that you have arrived at the cross-section of humanity. Everybody seems interested in being there and is lining up. They're lining up for food, lining up to get their bidding card, lining up for a good view of the action, or lining up to find out what the line they are standing in is for.

What's My Line?

So what's in those buildings? Well, what do you want? Based on a quick glance tonight you could have had hay, lumber, tools, furniture, old riding mowers, or this cute little windcatcher.

Look Ma, No Power Lines!

Another building had fruits, vegetables, wheels, and fishing  reels. Next door was rabbits, piglets, and critters that fit in boxes or small cages. And next door to that larger animals were being auctioned. For each selection somebody with a microphone was extolling the virtues of the offering and speaking just slowly enough to make you confident about what you were spending. And just quickly enough that you were not entirely certain.

Wagons. Buggies.

Wheels. Reels.The Thrill of Deals

If you're noticing a disproportionate number of patrons keeping their waistbands elevated with suspenders or coifs contained with bonnets, you need to know where Dinky's is. 

Dinky's lies in the heart of Daviess County's Amish and Mennonite communities. As you drive past these homes, there is marvelous pride of ownership. The yards are in shape, the flowerbeds are bursting with color, and you know an incredible amount of work is expended to keep things this way.

So how do you get to Dinky's? It really depends where you're coming from. It may even depend upon how you're getting there, as this sign suggests.

Not a Volkswagen Reference

The gathering of vehicles was as colorful as they folks who drove them there. Many were motorized. Here are some of my favorites.

 Most of these did not have really huge engines. My guess is about one horsepower. 

But the bodies were solid, well-tended, and in some cases imaginatively decorated.

Another item being offered in the buildings was food. Tonight the special was root beer floats. One of us got one of those. I do not like embarrassing my mother, so I won't share who it was. Thank you for understanding. The rest of us enjoyed either chicken tenders, a cheeseburger, or a tenderloin sandwich. Another selection available was cotton candy. It brings us to one of my favorite stories. See the booth? Mmm. Cotton candy. See the sign? We can help with what again? The booth and the Life Change business are owned by the same person. My mother asked one of the girls about it and she just smiled and said, "Well, we like to fatten them up a little before we help them lose weight." And that, my friends, is the soul of complementary business models.

Life Change Here. Start with the Cotton Candy.

See if you can figure out which person in the following picture is driving the hardest bargain. I'm not certain either, but we are having homemade egg noodle pasta with our eggs for breakfast tomorrow, so it seems like a win-win to me. Well done, Mrs. C!

In the food area, we could also have had candy bars. But we wouldn't eat Snickers. We might have had 5th Avenue. We might have had Almond Joy. We might have had a Heath bar, but we couldn't have had Snickers.

You see, not all the animals we saw were for sale. One fellow had the cutest black piglet cradled in his ample embrace. It was just relaxing there with its damp little nose occasionally twitching, more than willing to be carried anywhere that fellow was going. Another was a three-week-old kid whose mother had ignored it. So its humans took over.

Bottle Baby

The woman and young girl leading the kid around were doing a great job with him. I asked them what his name was and they said Snickers. I can see it, can't you? The chocolate leggings, the nougat coat, the touches of caramel. There's probably even a metaphor for nuts in there somewhere, but I'll leave that to your own vivid imagination. This little fellow was precious, hopping around, then jumping, then running back and forth.

Snickers

Before you run out and get your own Snickers, just let me remind you of something. Meet Zero.

Zero

Once upon a time, Zero was a lot like Snickers. I know. It's hard to believe. One day much sooner than you'd like to believe, it may be very difficult to find a halter that easily slips over Snicker's protuberances. Just think ahead, okay?

Even the best evenings end. This is done to make way for tomorrows. Unlike our neighbors, we left nearly as lightly loaded as we arrived. And it was good.

Homeward Bound

If you're in the neighborhood on a Friday night and you wonder where the action is, you just may find all you're looking for and more. At Dinky's.

Milk & Honey and Being Available

Fairly significant changes are afoot. My lovely bride and I have relocated to The Land of Milk and Honey, also known as The Hoosier State. Our home in The Free State is on the market at this writing and due to be shown in successive open houses this weekend. This is not trivial. That home was purchased new by my in-laws in 1961 and has been owned by their family ever since. In addition to prying my dear wife away from nearly all she has ever known, we have uprooted ourselves with no jobs to go to and no discernible prospects. We have a firm grip on fun.

It has occurred to me that whoever coined the phrase "Land of Milk and Honey" was probably unfamiliar with lactose sensitivity and fluctuating sugar levels. But what the heck. We're here and we're generally very pleased that here is where we are. We are missing friends, but we're making new friends and finding richness in relationships that have been dormant for many seasons. We are ready to act and waiting for a couple of key data points to solidify.

They are:

Work/job. The defining difference between these two terms is that work can come from anywhere and in many cases can also be performed from anywhere. Work is where my heart lies. I want to ply my trade and touch as many businesses and people as possible. Jobs are not so flexible. The day is coming, I'm sure, but it's not fully here yet. Jobs entail a regular commute to and from someplace. If our income is job-based, it will affect the second data point.

Home. We are being housed, fed, and loved by two wonderful people right now. Having just entertained my sister's dog over the weekend, I am now fully aware that this is not an eternal welcome. I love my sister's dog. I love that she is my sister's dog. You get me?

So we need to give my parents their basement again, reclaim all our worldly possessions, and attempt to stuff them into a dwelling we can call our own.

I'm kind of excited about that. Really. The smaller the dwelling, the greater the likelihood that we will select the things most important to us and let go of the rest. This will fulfill our daughter's most fervent wish--"when you die, please die as minimalists." I'm not demonizing dear daughter. That may not, in fact, be her most fervent wish. But it's one of them. She's seen us wade through items floating in the wake of my in-laws' passing and she is taking a firm stance. Not me. Not now. Not ever. So we have our orders.

As I mentioned, homes are generally within relatively easy driving range of places of employment. So when we have the former, we'll have a likely location of the latter. Meanwhile, we have a mortgage for a home we own but do not occupy, we have a home we occupy but do not own, we have obligations but no income, and we have the makings of a glorious mess. Honestly, I have not had this much fun in years.

I was told in an interview today, "you guys (meaning technical writers) are hard to find." That may be so, but we're hiding about as well as two-year-olds. Short of jumping up and down, flapping my arms, and yelling "Over here! Over here!", I'm not sure what else to do. Frankly, I want to be It. Tag me!

In perspective, this is just Monday. There's a lot of week left. In that time God can close a lot of doors and open a lot of windows. And there will probably be another week after this one. So I will continue to be available, to be searching, and to be the right person for the right opportunity at the right time. I think that is being all that I can be.

What a Home Ought to Have

I thought my wish list for a perfect house was pretty complete. Then I looked outside.

Back story

We've been thinking a good bit about houses lately here at Casa CoalBear. We are sprucing up the one we live in and thinking of one we'll move to. 

I expect most of you are either normal or exceptional. Please know that some of the rest of us bravely shoulder the burden of chronic dissatisfaction. You may be married to a person like this. You have my sympathy. My wife is too. Here's how you know. Your furniture spontaneously rearranges itself when your back is turned. Glossy brochures of new automobiles appear on your coffee table. You'll have conversations--more truthfully, you'll listen to monologues--about how your house would look if we could just eliminate that wall.

If you are married to such a person, sites like Houzz are an addictive substance and should be rationed by a caring third party before somebody succumbs to creative possibility overload.

I've perused Houzz quite a bit. A bunch. Lots. And I thought I had this next house thing figured out. 

Oh, Wouldn't That Be Lovely?

Here are a few things that, while not imperative, would be enticements to me.

H2O. The house I can happily go to sleep dreaming of has a water view. It doesn't have to be waterfront property. A glimpse will do. But from some point in the house, occupants can see light dancing on waves, fish jumping, birds hunting, and even on inclement days they'll see the surface of the water gossiping about the moody weather.

Porch. The weather won't keep people inside because this house will have a deep porch, so deep that quite a few musicians can gather there and stay dry no matter how hard the rain is falling. The porch has a wide wall, ideal for sitting on and just below the wall are thick, soft bushes in case any guests have difficulty prioritizing drinking and safely perching. 

Outbuildings. The third 'Oh, Wouldn't that be Lovely?' item is a large pole building that will hold a couple of vehicles, a shop, and the stuff that we refuse to clutter the house with this time but still won't let go of. 

The rest of the shopping list is the usual -- a couple of bedrooms, a kitchen, some bathrooms, a laundry room, a family room, and space for a home office. Is that enough? Apparently not.

The Show

I thought I'd covered it all until I looked outside and remembered the show. My mother-in-law planted two magnolias to the side and front of this house. I think the next house ought to have magnolias and, if I get my druthers, I think they've already been there a good long while. I'm not ready to forgo the show.

If you don't have a magnolia in your yard, you should know that they are a glorious celebration of spring. They're a perfume worn for a day in the sunshine. They're a cascade of blushing petals gathered together like the loveliest fruit and weighing down the branches that hold them to sway in the breeze. The blossoms are translucent. When the sunlight finds its way into them, it's as if they've found their soul and each beams as brightly as any new convert, filled with the conviction that their story cannot be ignored. They are visually arresting. Against a blue sky, they are one of the finest color combinations going. 

For the gentlemen among you, magnolias are like lunchtime in the city, when the parks are filled with beautiful young women strolling, striding, or sitting in the sunshine, thrilled to be outside without a sweater or jacket. Honestly, in springtime don't all women become beautiful young women? It's a special time of year and a magnolia in bloom is a superb expression of it.

Youth has its day, but not without a little help. The contrast of these flowering buds with the aged branches that support them appeals to me as well. That's why a young magnolia just won't do. I want to see the marks of time, the scars of branches sloughed or cut, the age spots of lichen freckling the shady side of the trunk, and the thick solidity of a plant too stubborn to quit. I want to enjoy something that will be there after the blush of youth has become a pink carpet and dark waxy leaves have taken their place to shade all below.

I still have my dream list, but it was incomplete. I think a fine old magnolia is one more thing a home ought to have.