Frost

 FROST

 A lace so intricate

Like none to be found.

Rare, beautiful lace

Lying on the ground.

 

In a crystal of mine

(A much finer place)

Is a lovely snow

Waiting for my mind to lace.

 

Both are sugared pathways

Winding through the trees.

Mine sprinkles sweetness

And floats me through the breeze.

 

So very sweet the frost;

Intricate and fine.

Setting in slowly

To numb my mind.

 

Brian Potter

About this Poem: I wrote this during my first years of teaching in the mid eighties when drugs were a much bigger problem for teenagers. A student of mine had a problem with cocaine and this was what came of that and winter in Wallace where the snow just piled up to over six feet. I chose the picture of a frosted tree in the lights at night. It shows a beauty and a darkness that I feel fits the tone of this poem in its dark lulling rhyme. It's copied and pasted from a drive and I can't easily fix the poor formatting...

Directional Shift

Following my pattern of writing about something I’m grateful for in conjunction with each year we’ve been a country has come to an end. So I’m at this point of not knowing the direction of my blog. There’s no doubt that it has been an art in revealing my personality in little increments, which is just the way I would want to do it. One thing lacking from it is my desire to express my political feelings. I think the U.S. has this element of craziness in it that we often feel is unique to ourselves. Some of it definitely is, but there is a craziness that exists in people worldwide. So maybe I’ll explore a bit of political thinking in the coming entries. I also want to carry on writing about running, my personal running as an aging dude. And I love poetry and have been writing it almost every day, so I should share some of that. At any rate, this little blurb is just a notification that I’m switching direction in this blog. I do want to keep it mainly positive. I see no need to add toxicity to the online world as there is plenty of that already.

 

247. Freedom of Religion

I love the freedoms afforded to us as Americans in the Constitution. I especially love the freedom of religion and the separation of church and state. This separation and freedom prevent me from having any obligation to any faith but my own. I think this allows people of faith to easily dedicate themselves to their own faith while living freely and, presumably safely, among people of other faiths.

Right here in Potlatch I can point out the existence of the Wild Rose Mennonite community. This group of faithful Anabaptist Christians live here and have their own school and businesses. They are members of the community and they work and live amongst us, but they stay separate in their faith right down to their schools.

Another example I can think of easily here in Idaho is the Reformed Jewish Congregation in Boise, Congregation Ahavath Beth Israel. This synagogue building is one of the oldest continuously inhabited synagogues in the United States west of the Mississippi. The first Jewish Governor of a state, Moses Alexander, was a member of this congregation. This, to me, is proof of how well our freedoms serve us as Americans.

Of course, we always have to be vigilant to maintain our freedoms. Currently, a large group of conservative evangelical Christians is trying to promote Christian Nationalism, the idea that the founding fathers intended this nation to be Christian. Naturally, their version of Christianity tends to be very dogmatic and fundamentalist in its interpretation of scripture. I cannot believe the founders of this country had anything close to Christian Nationalism in mind when they crafted the Constitution or the freedom of religion would not have been so clearly laid out. And, as a Christian, I find this idea abhorrent because it twists Christianity into some ancient eye for an eye sort of faith, not quite as merciful as I understand the teachings of Christ. Their mercy seems to be meted out by a narrow prescription that may not allow you to be as truly free as you may wish. I believe we have to be vigilant to prevent this in a nation that has freedom of religion established in its very constitution.

 

246. Poetry

I love poetry. I write poetry almost every day and I read it every day. I have favorite poets that I find intriguing, probably as much for what they write about as much as how they write. My examples of that are Robert Frost and Sylvia Plath and Richard Blanco. But I also like poets who change up the form and make me think differently about how you can write poetry. My examples of this are E. E. Cummmings, William Shakespeare and William Wordsworth.

I like how poetry is singing for people who can’t necessarily carry a tune. And yes, it’s also for those who sing extremely well because music is also poetry if it has lyrics.  I like the rhythms and rhymes of poetry. I like how a poem makes you see things more clearly or how it makes you think something you understood very well seem complicated and beyond your comprehension. I like how so many people think poetry is frivolous and a waste of time while, in truth, it is a way of being very present and in tune with yourself and the world. love how the images in poetry thrust you almost instantaneously to another time or another place. I like how the images can seem benign and yet the rhythms slowly pound it into you so that you can’t forget it. All those ear worms can totally make or ruin your day. That is the power of poetry and anyone who discounts poetry ignores the fact that they probably eat Lays potato chips because they couldn’t eat just one (poetry is in advertising). Saying poetry is frivolous is saying language is frivolous and that is as much a lie as saying sticks and stones can break your bones but words can never hurt you. Of course words can hurt you. The laws of the land are words and they have more force than a thousand freight trains. Poetry is all that. Poetry is power.

I’m not on some power trip, I’m just in love with how words control so much of our lives and the poetry I love is the poetry that propels me to live. I love poetry.

 

245. My Lawn

This one might sound weird, but if you think about it you’ll know it’s probably true of a lot of people: I love mowing and tending the grass of my lawn. I have never planted an entire lawn, but lately I’ve been working on the area of my lawn that was disrupted by the building of my garage. Naturally, the first thing to grow was weeds. I got some wheat straw and planted grass seed in the fall and then covered it in straw. The shaded part of the lawn had great grass. In the sunny part I got some great broad-leafed grass that ended up being wheat. So in that spot I had a great wheat crop that returned largely to weeds with a few spots of grass. I had heard from a friend that when you get a snowfall in late fall or early winter you should broadcast grass seed over the snow so that you know you have your area covered. In addition to that the seed will gradually get to the ground and germinate in the spring. So I tried that and it seemed to work fairly well, but I still have a lot of weeds mixed in. Now I’m working on that section with weed and feed and some weed spray. I prefer not to use a bunch of toxins on the grass, but I will do what I can to get good grass.

Another thing about the lawn is mowing it. I really enjoy that. In spring and early summer, it can be exacerbating because if I go anywhere I can’t keep up with it because it’s ready to mow every four or five days. The rain also interferes with keeping up because we can get spring and early summer rains for days on end. Sometimes I feel like I have to run out and mow at every break in the clouds.

And now it’s the season of watering. It’s really what I remember about summer at home: running through the sprinklers. While I don’t do that much these days, I do have my moments in the heat when I just take a step or two through the sprinkler and then laze around in a lawn chair letting the evaporation cool me. What can I say? I love taking care of my lawn.

244. Hiking

I love to hike. That was something I started loving at a very young age. I used to climb up the hills around my home as a kid. I’ve almost always lived in the mountains or very close to them, so going out to see what’s over the next hill has always been a thing I’ve loved to do.

I remember, when I was old enough to drive at fourteen, I would drive off into the woods and go for a hike. I was young and never thought that it could be dangerous, so I would go out often without telling anyone where I was going. I discovered all kinds of alpine lakes in the mountains—the Seven Devils and the Salmon River Mountains.

I also worked at the Priest River Experimental Forest and hiked into the Selkirks with friends past Upper Priest Lake toward the Canadian border. We found a little pond formed by a creek that we swam in. It’s these little discoveries that make the hikes worthwhile. I just relived part of that hike this past week, hiking to the far northern edge of Upper Priest. It was beautiful and I was able to take a quick swim in the lake and pick huckleberries on the way.

I have hiked all over places in Vermont, Maine, Oregon, Washington, Montana, California, Wyoming, Nevada, Utah, California, Arizona, Connecticut, and, of course, Idaho. I had never climbed Idaho’s highest peak until I turned fifty and had had a heart attack at 48 and bypass surgery at 49. At that point I figured I had been to the lowest point in the state and needed to see the highest at least once. I still haven’t done it again ten years later, but that’s all right because it’s quite a trip just to get there. Another great mountain top hike is Scotchman peak in the Cabinet Mountains near Clark Fork, Idaho.

All those hikes, whether alone or with friends, have given me time to see the world on foot. I’ve learned how to pack food, water, and all that I might need. It exposed me to the elements and made me think about what really matters in life and that’s important. It makes life bearable because the problems drift away and the air is clean and the world is beautiful. That’s why I love hiking.

 

243. Potlatch Days

I love Potlatch Days. That’s the community celebration of Potlatch, Idaho, the town where I have lived for the past thirty years. Little towns all over the country have their similar celebrations that welcome everyone to come celebrate their existence, but none are more fun than the towns where you live. And I live in Potlatch, Idaho. For me it’s like a big family reunion. I taught school high school English here for 27 years and I’ve been coaching here for all 30. I know nearly everyone and I have loved being here with all of them.

This year I started the celebration by running the beer mile relay. In years past I have done the beer mile, but that is just miserable. You chug a beer, run a quarter mile and repeat until you have run a mile. Chugging four beers in less than fifteen minutes (yes, it really slows you down) is sickening, but one beer and one lap is doable. I was able to talk three other people into joining me and we had a competitive team, even though we got second out of two teams…

On Saturday morning I ran the fun run where I met some new people. I actually won the 5K with a time of thirty-three minutes! I was slow because I took an uphill walk break. Clearly there was little competition, though I probably would have been beaten by the woman who was pushing her baby in a stroller if she hadn’t refused to run the last part of the hill. At ten I marched in the parade with the Latah County Democrats promoting our candidates and saying hi to all kinds of people I know and love. At lunch time the whole family ate German Sausages while listening to a concert of marimba players and then fiddlers. Later I had several plunges in a dunk tank to raise money for a skate park. For the rest of the afternoon I walked around the park perusing the various vendors and observing the logging sports such as the cross cut and axe throw. A former student bought my wife and I a couple of beers and we sat in the shade drinking beer and talking with former students and making further connections. That pretty much wrapped it up for me because I was beat, but the celebrations continued. I had a great time and I always do. I think Potlatch Days is one of the best celebrations of the year. 

242. Art

I like art. Our world has the capacity to be seen in a zillion different ways and I use that verb “seen” loosely because it’s more properly interpreted as experience. My forms of art that I like to employ are speaking, writing, and phone photography. So when I say I like art I’m not speaking strictly of visual arts, but for this entry that’s what I want to focus on.

This past month we went to Seattle for the Fourth of July and the days following. One day we went to the SAM Sculpture Gardens. There are several pieces of art there that are striking, foremost of which is Echo, a large statue of a face seemingly gender neutral, but it should be a woman since it’s based upon the Greek myth. There is no hair and the eyes and mouth are closed. It’s very tall and pillar shaped, or so it appears from the back. I just wanted to see it from every angle. I’m very familiar with the myth and I wanted to see the myth in the statue after having observed it already from several angles before I even knew what it was called.

That’s just one example of art that intrigued me. I also like to take photographs with my pone. I like to look at things that we see every day and show them from a different angle so that you stop and see things from a unique perspective. The best things are flowers, landscapes, insects, and architecture for me. I find it difficult to capture people so that they don’t look scattered or awkward or that I don’t make them feel that way. I don’t have much capacity to zoom in with my phone. I also use my phone because I always have it with me.

I also love paintings. I have absolutely no patience to get myself to paint, but I certainly enjoy the paintings of others. Some of my favorites are those by my mom and various friends as well as the classic American and international artists like Trumbull, Chagall, Van Gogh, Monet and a zillion others I don’t even know by name. I just love art.

241. Writing

 I like what I’m doing right now, sitting outside at a little glass table on the deck just on the edge of the sunshine but guarded by shade and breeze on what is probably going to be the hottest day of the month: writing. I write something pretty much every day. Sometimes it’s agonizing because I can’t think of anything to write or because I’m avoiding writing something because I know how much work it entails or because I want it to be really good but I’m so afraid it won’t be. Usually it’s just a process I go through for a couple of hours every day. Much of what I write is just plain garbage that I don’t really want anyone to read, though I seldom throw much away. I catch myself making glaring errors that as an English teacher were always my pet peeves—things like apostrophizing its when I shouldn’t or homophomic mix ups like their and there. Those still make me cringe in others’ writing, so they drive me over the edge when I catch myself doing them.

I love taking my handwritten drafts to the word processor and watching every word. Sometimes I strike words completely, other times I replace them with something more precise or vague, depending on my purpose. In some cases, I write speeches or sermons that actually get delivered. Those pieces will be drafted several times, always with my ear to the words and their flow. It has to sound better than its appearance. With letters I just do a quick read over and send it on to whom I wish to share. I almost always want to change something in a poem every time I reread it.

I view my writing as a challenge like a puzzle. I just keep working on it until I get it right. But unlike a puzzle, there is never one right answer. Every draft has something different to say about the same subject and I can feel like five or six different people at once. But in the end, the writing is just me. I’m human and we’re all so incredibly complicated. So this is my writing offered in love, my gift.

240. Weather Days

After a couple of years of being trapped at home, unable to do much, it might seem strange that I write about this as something I love about America, but I do love the occasional rainy day or snow day where you are just forced to change all of your plans. These are the kinds of things that force you to go out and shovel snow instead of going to work. You might have to stay inside and binge watch some television or some movies. You might take the opportunity to read that book you’ve set aside because you couldn’t find the time to read it. Maybe the power has gone out and you have to light some candles and rethink all of your meal plans because you can’t cook inside on your electric range.

These kinds of days—the days that make you rethink your plans—happen at any time of year. The weather has a way of making us realize that all of our plans and scheming aren’t really that important or that we didn’t really think them through. I’m retired, so I didn’t think these sorts of days would really happen much anymore, but then the rains of May and June started happening, the kinds of rain that make it impossible to get your yard work done, the kinds of rains that make your garden plot a mud hole that you can’t possibly till or plant. These are the days that force me to do that writing I wanted to do but kept putting off. These are the days when I start baking cookies in the afternoon because I can’t get much done outside. These are the days that are unexpectedly welcome because I have to remember that all of my plans aren’t really that important. What is important is that we are lucky enough to be alive to do things, like meaningless things that somehow have the capacity to remind us that it is the life that is important, not the activities.

Some people get distraught over these sorts of days because they get behind or simply have to give up on things. I learned sometime ago to embrace them and use the rainy days, the snow days, the sick days as a time to be thankful. I love them.

 

239. The Church

Another obvious thing that I love and have yet to write about is church. So much of my life has been organized by church because I have always enjoyed attending. There’s so much that I have learned about my own faith in church, besides the obvious fact that it has completely shaped my faith. It’s true that I don’t always fall in line with what others at my local congregations have chosen as dogma, but I have never placed myself in a congregation that fully goes against my thinking. I have always had room to believe and express my own opinions within my Christian faith. My faith is in God and the church has helped guide me in that faith but it is made up of human beings and we aren’t always the most reliable. So I don’t rest my faith in the church.

But the Christian church is the cultural shape by which our society in the west is structured. We have Christmas in the winter and Easter in the spring and even the most secular organizations recognize that structure either through respect or habit. And those of us who truly practice the faith, we go to services on Sunday. Maybe even other days in the week. So much so that our lives are structured around church and work.

Of course, for me the church is also the place where I have made hundreds of friends and committed myself to helping people. It has also committed me to the belief that no matter how bad things might seem there is something bigger than all of it in charge of making the things the way He wants them and I don’t need to worry. While I certainly haven’t put my faith in the church as an institution, I have put my faith in the God that it has pointed me to and I have dedicated my life to serving that God. Everything about the Christian church has shaped the person I am, even as, at times, I watch in dismay its hypocrisy. I still believe in the redemption and forgiveness of our God and I know that is fully extended to His church so I will continue to work toward its redemption. We’re all products of dysfunction and sin but that’s who we are, now we have to work to fix that. I love the church.

 

238. Planting

When I started writing this entry I was about a week behind in my planting of the garden. It has been rainy and cold and my rototiller wasn’t working so I had to get it repaired. I had already started pumpkins, winter squash, and zucchini plants in the garage. I spread manure on the garden space and bought tomato plants, tilled and finally planted when it wasn’t raining. I love doing all of that planting. I will probably be replanting some of the beans, but the corn seems to have come up wonderfully. Probably the only part I enjoy less as I age is the spreading of manure and tilling. I know I’ll be sore from those efforts and I don’t bounce back as quickly any more. But placing seeds and checking the plants every day just anticipating their germination is a hoot. Seeing that miraculous combination of compost, seed, sun, and water turn into garden produce that we can eat is just fun. Getting it all ready, while a little bit of work, is something that I love doing.

I anticipate what I want to grow and where I’m going to plant it in the late winter or early spring. Since we built our new garage I start seeds inside in March and April. I bought a moveable workbench table that I place below the single window in the garage. I have a heating pad that keeps the soil warm so that the seeds are quick to germinate. I did it once without a heating pad and had minimal success, probably because it doesn’t get all that warm in the garage in the spring. It’s definitely more fun to watch the seeds germinate up close. I also have the ability to baby them along and I love doing that. I control how much water they get so that they are never deluged with a spring rain. When they get big enough I transfer them to pots that I still keep in the garage and expose them to cooler temperatures. Then a day or two before I plant them in the garden I set them outside for a couple of nights, still monitoring them closely before finally setting them in the garden where they will hopefully produce fruit for the summer and fall. I just love the process of planting.

 

237. Monuments

On Memorial Day weekend around here it usually rains. No exception this year. So many people around here go camping, stopping by cemeteries to lay flowers on the graves of loved ones. We typically don’t camp, but we often visit a cemetery or two. That did not happen this year because we spent a week in Connecticut doing just that at the beginning of May. But one thing about the holiday that has struck me is the beauty of all the monuments we have in this country and how they help us stop and ponder the events that our nation has endured or enjoyed in the past.

I can’t say I think all monuments, in and of themselves, are wonderful. All of the monuments to confederates that were erected well after the southern states were reentered into the union are monuments to traitors that lost in their cause to rip our nation apart. I fully understand the desire to topple those by anyone who loves this country. Monuments are things that make my family cringe when I see them because I always want to stop and read them, and they are everywhere.

Monuments are historical markers of events and people that were and are important to their communities. These are everything from tombstones to roadside historical markers. They are the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and the Statue of Liberty. They are the Golden Gate Bridge and the sign at the park remembering Riverside Dance Hall and all the famous bands that came to play there. Sometimes they have poems like “Send me your tired and weary,” or “Here lies the body of…” Sometimes their markings are very prosaic, mentioning very simply the event or person they stand for. Sometimes you get enough information from the monument and sometimes they leave you hanging so you have to research their purpose. Sometimes they are just stones, while other times they are entire structures or buildings. Monuments are incredibly diverse, but they cause us to remember things and people that might easily be forgotten. Monuments are vital to our continuing understanding of ourselves and I love that.

236. Hope in America

 

I started this aspect of my blog—a list of things about America that I love—out of anguish over what was happening, the seeming rending of the fabric of our being so that we don’t even recognize each other anymore. It’s helped me realize even more how much I love my country and the great hope that Americans have for this nation of ours in spite of our sometimes irrational fears of what is happening or might happen to it. Sometimes when you are opposed to someone’s way of thinking you equate them to something evil and you want to eradicate that evil. That’s what has been happening with us from the foundation of our country. My hope, and the great hope of all Americans, is that we as a people get to the place where we live in harmony.

I am a firm believer in debate and finding common ground through that negotiation process. I believe that seeming polar opposites can find respite in the equators of our united existence so that we no longer inhabit long periods of darkness and long periods of light. America has a dark tumultuous existence, not because of our past but because of our humanity. But we have always had to reckon with our selves and, whether we like it or not, look at who we are and the ideals we hold. They have never matched, yet we strive to make that happen, to truly deliver “liberty and justice to all.” We believe—I believe—that we can achieve that goal. Just what liberty and justice are, just what our inalienable rights are as human beings, still has to be wrestled with every day. But Americans wrestle diligently and arduously with those ideas. Of course, we fail with it when it comes to racism, but we continue to wrestle it out. #Blacklivesmatter #Alllivesmatter And are those oppositional statements? Is one good and the other bad? Or are they both good and bad because they come from human anguish? Can we reconcile them? Let’s hope we can. Let’s try. Yes, I get despondent about my country but then I see the hope that we all strive for and I truly love it.

Commencement 2022

            Thank you, class of 2022, for asking me to be your commencement speaker. It’s an honor to be asked by you, because of all the classes I have spoken for in the past, you are the one class that I had for the shortest period of time. Not even a full year, really. My student teaching experience was almost as long. The icing on the cake for me, though, happens to be that I student taught only sophomores and my first two years of teaching were only sophomores. There was never a year in my 35 plus years of teaching that I didn’t teach sophomores.  Wise (Sophos, from the Greek) morons, the literal definition of sophomore. So Randon, this is why I became known as the openly rude teacher who willingly, albeit affectionately, called my students morons. Really, everyone does, they just don’t think about it quite the way I did.

I will admit that I have jokingly referred to you as the class, sophomores at the time, who forced my retirement. But, as you know, that was not the case at all. You weren’t even a tough class. In fact, you were down right nice to me all the time. Not exactly sophomoric. And you still are nice to me, asking me, of all people, to speak at your graduation, even after I called you morons. Of course, we were robbed of that last quarter when the real monotony of school begins. Will, would all of your teachers from the past two years say you were nice to them all the time? Brady, you were always nice, weren’t you? Most teachers are fairly forgiving, so you’ll be all right if you weren’t. But at any rate, I digress. You’ll forgive me if I seem to ramble a bit as I go. I’ll pull it together for you in the end. Josie, I’m not one to follow my advice on writing an essay with an up-front thesis statement in my speeches because that’s not really how conversation works. Speaking of conversation, Patrick, you and I need to talk. We have a lot in common because of all the people we know here and in Deary even if we don’t really know each other.

            But back to you as a class. The tail end of your required formal education has been highly unusual compared to past years. Some will say you might be hopelessly behind because of test scores (as if any of that EVER mattered). They’ll cite any possible deficit they can, because, well… Becca, you might have noticed, we have a lot of Chicken Little’s in the world, always worried that the sky is falling. Most of those Chicken Little’s seem to hold public office. But we human beings are resilient, and you all will prove that even more so. You’ll have all kinds of Pandemic stories to tell your children, but, if past generations are any sign of how that works, your children will probably know nothing about the pandemic. I never heard Spanish Flu stories as a kid, yet my grandparents all lived through it. There’s no doubt that it has probably colored your view of the world, maybe people as well. All those lessons on polite behavior seem to have been lost on some of us older folk, while, hopefully Dawni, you’ve observed the “do as I say, not as I do” attitude with a bit of a smirk.

            Much has changed in the past few years and the pandemic sped some of that up. Two years ago I had never heard of Zoom, and while I had Face Timed a couple of times, I felt that it was an art in holding the phone at such an angle that I didn’t have to worry whether I’d trimmed my nose hairs. So I preferred texting or old fashioned talks on the phone. I’ve had to get over that. Now most meetings are held over Zoom or some hybrid. You can now be a part of your local church congregation and never even physically attend the service. That kind of stuff is not going away. Henry, I hear you’re into all this new e-sport thing. This is your time, as long as you can survive murderous peanut shenanigans of the likes of Levi. While me, I’m guessing I was the last teacher to actually use chalk in this building. I know I am the last to have taught in it without walls. And many of your parents were right there with me. We’re of another era, but you are here. So you see what I mean about people being resilient. We survive the most idiotic ideas (no walls in a school?) and some of the bleakest of times when we need to.

            We took my dad back to Connecticut this last month. In fact, I was in Boston getting ready to come home when Emma texted me to ask if I would speak here today. We were at the Paul Revere House when I got her text. My dad was born in Connecticut, but hadn’t been back since 1949. The reason they moved out here was one of those bleak stories of cancer and death but incredible resilience as well. Anyway, we visited family and saw his old stomping grounds and literally begged him to tell us stories about a very different Connecticut. We ate it up because he’s the last in his generation of our family. And we visited lots of cemeteries, MacKenzie.  It dawned upon me then, as it did again this last Memorial Day when I was just getting over my own bout of COVID, that we are the blessing of all those family members buried there. We, the living, Jack, are the blessings of the dead. All of their strivings were for us. Those cemeteries in Connecticut are old, but there are a lot of really new graves from these past two years. I’d say it’s more noticeable in more populous areas, but maybe the pain of loss is more acutely felt here where we all know each other and just one person leaves a gaping hole. Just our country alone has lost over one million people. I know we haven’t made it unscathed, and how behind students are in school is probably the least of the after affects.

            Misinformation, conspiracies, and lies are not new to us, but they seem to flourish in this climate. They can really cause harm. You have to look at facts to determine what is right. You have to turn off the voices that tell you not to believe the facts. Sometimes you just have to dig really deep to find the truth, and you have to let go of things that you thought were right when you find out they aren’t. You have to have faith that there is something bigger than all the mess of humanity with it’s fears and lies. If there weren’t something bigger, how could we be so resilient? How could we overcome the onslaught of diseases that have plagued us forever? We could not.

            We educate our children because we believe that there is something worth living for, something more beautiful than the dark whisperings we find even ourselves speaking. And it’s not because we want them to continually break themselves, Mr. Quiring. And it’s not just to help them see the sunlight in June on the green of the Palouse. It’s not just these tremendous gatherings we hold at the end of the year that say you made it. It’s to help you decipher lies from truth whether that be in the sciences or the arts or the humanities—all of those studies, no matter how mundane they have undoubtedly become, help you decipher the truth from the lies. And right now there is a whole contingent of people that doesn’t believe that’s possible, that maybe you have somehow been indoctrinated with some falsehood, that no one has taught you to think for yourselves. Those people, Olivia, deserve one of your spikes right in the chops. I already know that you are quite able to think for yourselves. Not that you always do it. I’ve watched you in groups at the crosswalk down here at Scenic 6 just keep talking and walk into the street assuming someone else looked for cars, and I’ve heard the screeching of car brakes at that cross walk. That I’ve only had one heart attack, Dominic, is more proof of human resilience. We all have done that group think in one way or another, even though we all know to look both ways before crossing. It’s important, even in our groups, to look both ways. I mean that both literally and metaphorically. We are, after all, Americans. No, Mr. McGuire, there is nothing wrong with thinking independently.

            We have come through a pretty turbulent time and now we have to clean up some of the mess that comes after a violent storm. We are here for a reason and we celebrate that together now, as the blessings of those who have gone before us because we are continuing to live, the thing that our ancestors wanted for us from the very beginning. And sometimes life is just messy and people are people, full of fears and doubts. We forget to just look up away from the ugly messes that come from whatever reason and have faith. But really, look up. Breathe. Maybe use one of your hobbies to get your head in a good place. I hear Austin plays a mean guitar. That’s a great thing. Things like that help us know there is something bigger and we are a result of that. We need to not think the world revolves around us, and let go of those trappings that hold us back. We also need to forgive others for being so human, so like us. I can’t tell you how often I have seen people hold grudges over really stupid things. It’s not worth it because it only hurts you, not the person you can’t forgive. So let it go. That’s the best way to carry on and find happiness in life. Be kind. Be forgiving. And don’t be afraid to remind yourself of that over and over. You see a stupid post on social media that really just burns you? Scroll past it. It doesn’t help you feel better to leave a nasty comment just because you have some anonymity.

            You have beautiful friends and family here witnessing your accomplishments. And it wasn’t easy for us. We learned, Kenzie, that the internet is really crappy around here, didn’t we? Do you remember those goofy videos I did to try to explain Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar to you? You had to read that alone and watch a very poor internet version. Did you read it, Sierra? Don’t worry, I’m not kidding myself. You all learned enough to fake it till you made it on those essay tests, so at least I accomplished something with you. Just remember to “Beware the Ides of March,” and figure out if your friends really think you might be getting too ambitious. History shows us that people have a way about them that isn’t always the best. I could have just told you the Romans had 10 months, but they added July for Julius Caesar, August for little Gus Caesar and to watch your backs and you would have had the gist of the importance of the whole play without all the “This was the noblest Roman of them all,” malarkey. (If you wonder, yes I do have that whole thing memorized, it’s the one constant I taught for 36 years to you wise morons!) But you got less of that and got to watch me hike in the woods and talk imbecilically to my phone and post it on Classroom. And Izack, you still found ways to sell me things! We all not only survived, we are thriving, hence the funky gowns you have on. Good job! We are, indeed, resilient.

            You aren’t getting an easy life handed to you like some of us Boomers. I remember being advised that to buy a home you should have an income that equaled at least half of what the cost of a home would be so that you could afford the payments. Let me tell you, you guys ain’t buying a new house too soon. Little starter homes in Potlatch are selling for a quarter of a million and you won’t find jobs starting at $150K around here right now. But, in spite of that, you do have a great resource in this community and we will help you in any way we can. So Brandon, don’t forget your roots here in Potlatch. Your friends and family, Jessica, the ones who both love and irritate you, are the ones to hold close. That’s exactly why I say you have to remember to forgive. Because sometimes, well, we’re just stupid. That’s part of our humanity and I’m sure you’ve noticed it. But you needn’t say anything about that, Logan. Remember what I said about comments on social media? That applies doubly when you are in person. What’s to stop us from slapping you upside the head? Remember, I am retired now. But Odin you’re safe. I’m not stupid, even if you are easy going, I’m not tempting fate.

            So here you are. Maybe you aren’t feeling all that resilient, but you are. You aren’t those little smart—excuse me—wise morons anymore. You aren’t even Seniors anymore. In fact, you have quite a few years left to regain that title (the sophomoric Tyson is saying, “ok Boomer” after kissing my bald spot--ewww). Now, remember that there is something bigger than you, than any of us. Have faith in that and hold on to it. People are not faithful or honest, so since you are a person, forgive people for being ridiculously human, because with all of those weaknesses we are still very resilient. We also have a way of making big messes with our actions because we lack foresight. It’s your job now, to tackle those messes. That’s why we are the blessings of all those ancestors who aren’t here with us anymore. We get to clean up their messes. So roll up your sleeves, class of 2022, because you have work to do. Commence living in all your beautiful resilient humanity. We love you.

 Find the spoken version here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=17Gj7h4PY-s

    

235. Foraging in the Woods

Being out in the woods is something I love. I love knowing all the types of plants and animals that exist there, though observation seems to be more my thing. Still, foraging for types of foods in the woods has always really interested me. I spend hours in late summer just hiding in the trees picking huckleberries and that seems like heaven to me. Right now I’ve noticed the locals are picking mushrooms and I think it’s about time I went out and picked a few.

Getting out in the woods to forage for some types of foods is not anything that’s necessary these days, but it really is a healthy thing to do. You get more nutrition out of things in nature just like you get more out of organic produce that is grown sustainably than you do the produce that is farmed on a large-scale basis with insecticides and herbicides. So there is that, but it takes a great deal of time to get out and forage, especially if you have work to do. But that’s probably why I do love to go out in the woods foraging for mushrooms or huckleberries. I’m away from all those pressures out in the fresh, pure scented air enjoying every little plant and bird that I see.

I really think the exercise and escape is good for the soul, so going out in the woods for any reason is good. But the fantasy of being completely self-reliant, or at least thinking you could be, is also a great way to relieve pressure and just enjoy nature. It’s a huge American ideal in our mythology, in what people have done, and the long line of historical writings. So to get out and enjoy nature and bring a little bit of that home for dinner is a very pleasant thing. A few mushrooms in your pasta, or a huckleberry cobbler or muffins make the combination of being at home and in nature mutually satisfying. And trying new ways of getting some nutrition is also satisfying and healthy. Rosehip tea blended with a little black tea warms you up and protects you from sickness. I’ve put crushed Douglas Fir needles into Christmas tree sugar cookies just for authenticity and a bit of a vitamin C boost. Some of it is just experimentation, but foraging in the woods satisfies my soul.

 

234. New England

I haven’t really written about regions of the country that I like, but I’ve made it pretty obvious that I like my part of the country and that I like travel. I’ve also written about specific spots and cities that I like, but I haven’t said that I love New England. While I can’t see myself leaving the Northwest, if I had to live anywhere else in the US I would live in New England. Like the Northwest, New England has similar seasons, family ties, and mountains. Maine even grows potatoes and has the White Pine as its state tree, like Idaho. Those things make a place home and I very much feel at home in New England.

I did my first trip to New England when I started graduate school in Vermont at the Bread Loaf School of English. I spent time in Vermont and Connecticut and driving through Massachusetts to get back and forth between those places. The thing about New England that I love even more than the Northwest is the sense of history. I had family colonize Plymouth and soon thereafter move to Milford and New Haven, Connecticut even before 1700. That’s really interesting to me. I’ve got a cousin who has researched the family genealogy and it pretty much matches the stories that have been handed down. So I have a strong sense of American pride rooted directly in New England. I love their sayings and accent. Things are “wicked cool” in New England and people in Boston are “wicked smaht.” While I might park the car in Idaho, in Boston someone “pahks the cah.” Obviously language and accents are a big love of mine, so the New England accent is just plain fun. And it’s not the same from southern to northern New England, ayuh (Vermonter for the NW yeah…).  

I also love the coastline of New England, the harbors filled with sailing boats and fishing boats. In Maine the mountains rise up out of the sea much like they do in Washington and Oregon. Boston Harbor exudes a sense of pride in being American and NOT British. The Boston Tea Party made us a coffee drinking nation. The Shot Heard ‘round the World was fired nearby in Concord and Lexington. American intellectualism was enshrined in Cambridge. It’s just a great part of our country and I love it in New England.

233. Bloomsday

I’ve already written about running in a zillion different ways because I love it. There is a particular race that I especially love: Lilac Bloomsday in Spokane, Washington. It occurs on the first Sunday of every May and has been happening since 1977—46 years!

Spokane is beautiful at this time of year because all the trees are beginning to bloom. Some years (not this one) the lilacs have actually started to bloom. The river is full of water from the snow melt in the mountains so the falls are rushing, noisy and beautiful. The Inland Northwest is full of active people, so Bloomsday brings us out by the thousands. Some years it has been upwards of 50 thousand. That’s a lot of people running the streets of a small city that is only a few hundred thousand itself.

I don’t honestly know how many times I’ve run the race. The first times I did it in the mid 80’s I was quite competitive so I would get right up on the starting line and run as fast as I could for 12K—more than seven miles. My goal was to always beat 50 minutes and I did it. Now my goal is usually somewhere around an hour fifteen if I’m feeling prepared for the distance. This year I was definitely not prepared for the distance, but I still did it in an hour twenty-five minutes. I was pleased with that because I haven’t run anything beyond three since December.

I always see people I haven’t seen in a while. They are people who live in the Inland Northwest but I don’t keep in touch with. It’s a great place and time to reconnect and celebrate by running. This year I reconnected with a former student. Sometimes I see people from Potlatch. I almost always try to connect with some people from Potlatch, maybe catching a ride or planning to run it together. I missed it over the last two pandemic years, but I did it remotely and somehow still felt connected to the community. It’s a great social event and a great race. I just love Bloomsday!

 

232. Eyeglasses

 

You know, there are a zillion objects we Americans use all the time and we don’t think of them as things we especially care for, but we couldn’t live without them. Some people even view these things as a necessary evil, but, in fact, they are objects that improve our lives tremendously.

When I get up the world looks normal, typically beautiful like today with green grass and flowers beginning to appear with the backdrop of bright blue skies and white puffy clouds. But then I go into the kitchen or bathroom to get ready for the day and have to look at something smaller like the directions on a package, or even the opening of a package, and I can’t visually distinguish anything. And by then I’m looking up again, somewhat in frustration, fully aware of my age and noticing I can’t really even distinctly see the branches on the tree out the window. I let this go on until I sit down to read and then I put on my reading glasses. I’m a man with degrees in English and I love to read and write. I could not do those things easily without my glasses.

I’m not alone in needing glasses. And it isn’t merely a thing for the elderly. Glasses are the one medical device that all of us need at one point. You might need them to read only because your eyes no longer—or maybe never did—refocus from distance to close up. You might need them just because you want to spend the sunny day outside skiing on a snow-covered hillside, so you have to wear some shades. You might just need to wear them all the time so that things show up to you in focus. That could mean a single lens prescription or a prescription for only one eye, or a bifocal prescription, or, like me, even a trifocal prescription. (Which I refuse to wear because all those lines cause me to stumble and I do remain active.)

Glasses are necessary for most all of us and we’ve gotten to where we view them more as a fashion statement than a medical device. I realize that they are both and I have come to enjoy how I can look the scholar while still being able to view the world. I not only need my glasses, I love them.

231. Smart Phone

I really love my smart phone. I don’t think I would have said that just a couple of years ago, so that’s why it has never (until now) been on my list. There are all kinds of things I use my smart phone for. It’s for more than just a phone and contact list. Second to that it’s a camera. I take pictures of everything and then I post those pictures on social media sites because I take so many pictures that I could never keep track of them and they get old and end up getting deleted. Who prints pictures these days?

And social media is a distraction for me that I use my phone for. In fact, I’ve had to reign it in because it’s way too easy to spend too much time on it. But I love it. I stay in touch with former students and family and friends. I use social media to let people know I’m alive and share crazy pictures I’ve taken. I use social media to have private conversations, share private photos, and just have fun. The great thing about so many of those social media apps is that you can delete conversations or photos, or in time they just disappear. You don’t have to feel like you’re being tracked for every off-color remark you’ve ever made.

I also use my smart phone as a stereo for my music. I connect the music I have downloaded to my stereo system I just purchased (see previous entry) or I use Bluetooth to connect it to the car stereo system. I listen to podcasts that I like. I use it to listen to audio books. My favorite podcasts are Fresh Air and This American Life. Right now I’m listening to a very interesting biography called Me and Robert E. Lee. I’m learning all kinds of new things about the south.

Sometimes I use my smartphone to identify myself as a COVID-19 vaccine recipient. I use it to download my flight boarding passes for plane trips. I use it to identify birds. I use it to read the Bible and news feeds. I use it to connect to various radio stations around the world and to listen to broadcasts in foreign languages so that I can learn them. I use it for my German dictionary and an occasional translation of other foreign languages. I use it for it’s maps and guides for direction. I use it to find things like food or museums. I use it for almost everything. I love my smartphone, 

230. Fatherhood

I’m not sure what makes an American father different from other fathers or even what makes me a different type of father than my own dad, but I love fatherhood. I love being a father and I love being a son. I also feel special because I still have my dad, though I don’t see him more than once or twice a year.

There can be a sense of awkwardness about being a father. There are certain areas of life that we typically don’t talk about enough, but I think that’s true of all in person relationships, and I think that’s unfortunate but sometimes it’s just easier to keep some conversations pointed and not too personal. I used to think it was easier, and for a time it was, to talk to my mother, but now I feel like I’d rather talk to my dad about some things and not even broach those subjects with my mom. Aches and pains that go with aging are way easier to talk about seriously man to man, for instance.

I was lucky to always have my dad around. Some people have been known to be total dead beats as dads, not marrying the mother of their children or even involving themselves with their kids. Others, especially from my childhood era, spent too much time at work. That was never the way of my father or me.

I remember doing things with my dad like cutting wood out in the forest. We often took my grandpa along. My dad was super protective of his kids and would panic over any slight danger like choking or falling in the river, yet he supported us (reluctantly) in our rodeo pursuits. I do think he was happy when I broke my arm after being bucked off a bull and decided I didn’t want to have anything more to do with it. That kind of love that I received from my father made me want to be a dad too.

I took my own boys to Europe. We even lived in England for a year on a teaching exchange. We used to always cut a Christmas tree together. They both assisted me with setting up a cross country course while I was coaching and sponsoring meets. I think teacher’s kids get to spend lots of time at schools with their parents, but it was a great job for having children and I don’t regret a moment of it. So now that I’m a dad I have the privilege of having a physically challenged son who will live with us as long as we’re able. I love doing things with both my boys and I’m glad I don’t have to experience the empty nest. I love being a dad and I love my dad. 

229. Reclining Chairs

I have a reclining chair that I really appreciate. It’s getting old and a little worn, a little dirty, but it’s very comfortable. My youngest son who also lives with us has a reclining chair of his own. My wife has a love seat that reclines and we very specifically bought it for her when she was having breast cancer surgery because it is electronic so she could recline without having to use her arms that could have agitated her surgery site. Reclining chairs bring all sorts of comfort to us and we use them so frequently that it seems like they are extensions of ourselves. Needless to say, I love reclining chairs.

There’s nothing more comforting to me than to sit in a reclining chair in the afternoon, perhaps after doing some yard work or going for a run. I will sit there in comfort, recline, and sometimes take a nap. It’s as easy to sleep in as my bed. In fact, when I had my heart surgery I did sleep in it at night for nearly a week. I was so doped up that I slept in it most of the days as well. I can sleep in any easy chair, there’s no doubt—and I often do—but they can’t support your lower back like a bed or recliner, so getting a good nap in a non-reclining easy chair just doesn’t work as well.

My recliner is where I go to other worlds when I watch television or movies or read a book. I learn the news of the world in that chair as I read a newspaper or news magazine or watch the news or listen to news on the radio.

To me, a recliner represents a home. That recliner can be the comfort of anyone’s home and my recliner is particular to my home. Home is a place of comfort, a place of solace, a place of sanctity to the individual. The ultimate place of comfort and solace and sanctity in one’s own home varies with the individual, but for me it is that reclining chair. That’s why I love my recliner.

228. My Stereo

Since I’m starting to realize I have forgotten very basic things for which I am thankful, let me tell you that I am very thankful for my stereo system that I originally bought in 1985. It included a receiver with an equalizer and turntable. I thought about including a CD player, but decided against it because at that time I had none, they were too expensive and the players actually skipped like records if you bumped them which is why the original Sony Walkman was for tapes. Sometime in the nineties I bought a double cassette tape player to go along with it because it seemed crazy that I had tapes that I could only play on a little tape recorder or in my pickup. Of course, I eventually also bought a five CD player that was good enough to match the entire setup. I bought all of this to give me music while I spent time at home grading papers or reading. All of this was very satisfying and I saw no need to have a television. I still loved movies, but I was more than happy to drive to nearby theaters that played the latest blockbusters—places like Coeur d’Alene when I lived in Wallace, or Pocatello when I lived in Malad.

I’ve spent over a year noticing something going out on my stereo system and it’s taken me some time and false purchases of speakers to realize my second receiver is going out. The speakers—at first just one, now both—will just cut out for no apparent reason so I went up to Spokane (it’s very difficult to find stereo component systems anymore) with receiver in tow. We played it and it worked the entire time, so the guy had me fairly convinced it was probably my speakers going out. I bought some new speakers for $700 (I didn’t pay that much for the entire system in the original purchase), brought them home and after a day they, too, began cutting out.

So now I’m planning another trip to Spokane to return speakers and to buy a new receiver, or the recent equivalent… This time it will have blue tooth and Wi-Fi, so not only will I be able to play records, tapes, and CDs, I’ll also be able to stream radio stations and music streaming services either from the device or through my phone via blue tooth. I’ll go back to listen to international radio stations, Spotify, Amazon, Pandora, etc. I haven’t been listening to those streaming services much since I retired and have only a laptop. I don’t know for sure, but it may work for sound while watching streaming movies from my TV without hooking up to a cord, but I will certainly be able to use a cord to the TV if the streaming doesn’t work. This system is definitely going to cost more than I’ve ever spent on the whole thing put together, though probably not so much if I consider inflation (just over the last three months!). I’m excited thinking about it.

I love listening to all the old music from the early part of the 20^th century along with current music. I also just enjoy listening to Classical and Baroque music. I can get lost in the music of Bach and his contemporaries like Vivaldi and Pachelbel. There is something about being surrounded by Baroque music that enhances my ability to focus on a book or studying something. While the classical is best listened to alone since most of my family does not appreciate my period music, they might still find themselves trapped with it every now and then as they always have throughout the years.

I have also been known to rock out to music with the boys when they were little, and even now. Bryson and I used to sing loudly to “Shout it Out” and Forrest loved to be thrown around to “Roll with It, Baby.” I’ve also spent a bit of time just listening to music on the stereo as I contemplate things in life or celebrate the holiday seasons. There are plenty of Bing Crosby Christmas carols and some Gregorian chants that have taken me through sorrow and reminded me of the resurrection. All of that has been brought to my mind with some help from music, music I can play on my stereo system. I definitely love my stereo.

227. Cemeteries

 There is something very pastoral and peaceful about cemeteries. They are almost always in places of quiet beauty and solitude usually on the outskirts of town or on a hilltop out in the country. Often times they are around beautiful old churches with classic or gothic architecture. I know they are typically associated with great sorrow and more often than not people—living people—would rather avoid them than go picnicking there. That isolation could also be part of the appeal to me. Probably the biggest attraction for me at a cemetery is the history quietly tucked away, some of it never to be remembered but much of it memorialized in the tombstones.

I have made it a habit of visiting cemeteries whenever I get the chance. The isolated little town of Riggins, where I grew up, probably helped me escape some sense of cemetery sorrow. There were all kinds of small family plots in the back yards of people’s homes that had originally been old homesteads in the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries. Sometimes I could go hiking up trails near the Salmon River and find a tombstone of some beloved family member whose tombstone long outlasted the homestead that has now been reclaimed by the Forest Service or BLM. I always found this sense of history in a very remote area exceptionally intriguing, just as I found it intriguing that I could hike into alpine lakes that were named after old times that I knew as a child. These remote tombstones were physical connections of my own to the landscape where I lived. They were people whose families I knew even though my own family graves seemed to always be in the cemeteries that, until I was a teen, I never actually went to.

Of course, now some of my visits to cemeteries are specifically to see the graves of those loved ones I have lost in my own life, but that wasn’t always so. As I said, there were several little family cemeteries around where I grew up, but there were also the typical community cemeteries. I think the first of those that began to seem so fascinating were the cemeteries of the several ghost towns in my part of the world—places like Florence, Mount Idaho, Silver City, etc. They often had wooden grave markers and many of them weren’t really all that old now that I think about it (maybe fifty years) because you could sometimes still read them (this was in the nineteen sixties). I wish now that I had known something about cemetery preservation because there is much to be said about a place just by matching a tombstone with a recorded birth or death certificate. Of course, as a child, I had no such notions.

I’ve seen entire community cemeteries where all the old gravestones were in Norwegian or Finnish or Welsh right here in Idaho. In Samaria, Idaho there is a tombstone for the leg of an amputee whose remaining body is also buried across the yard after his subsequent death a few years later. Odd little things like that lend so much character, sometimes humor, and story to a community. In New England, the old slate tombstones from the 1600s and 1700s are more legible than the marble ones from the mid-1800s so that you can gather all kinds of information from the colonial people who were very much aware of the brevity of life as observed on their tombstones with the creepy little death heads, hour glasses, grim reapers and epitaphs. In Deerfield, Massachusetts I saw the stone of a mother and her infant who had died together in childbirth. It was well over 200 years ago, but the clarity of the stone gave me a very real glimpse of the pain that the family suffered from those deaths. While it may be something some would want to shy away from, I find it comforting that these people went through so much pain just so we could exist. And they almost always chose the most beautiful of places to honor and memorialize their living, and I also find that both comforting and fascinating. I truly love cemeteries.

226. Public Schools

It’s hard to believe I’ve waited this long to write about this passion of mine, but it is so obvious that I overlooked it. I love American public schools. I could get specific to Idaho since I spent 35 years teaching in Idaho public schools, but I really love all public schools and their mission—our mission as Americans through our public schools. And I do believe it is our mission. The idea is that we have an independent, critical thinking electorate so that our democracy can thrive. I’m not going to say they are perfect because they are not. I don’t believe there are perfect people and people run our public institutions, including schools. But the aim of public schools is to strive for our “more perfect union.” There are many detractors both obvious and insidious to our schools and those detractors come because we lose sight of the main goal: independent thinkers who know how to get solid, truthful information and put it to use for our democracy, a democracy that is dependent upon debate and compromise rather than strong arming through ideology or autocracy.

All the conflicts that occur in our society are carried out and debated not only in our state legislatures and the halls of congress, but in our public schools. Many people would like religion to be a part of their students’ education but because teaching a particular religion in a school could be conceived (or actually be) indoctrination, religious education has been removed from our schools. I believe a general education of religion would be helpful so that our populace knows what others believe and how their lives are structured, but that has been divorced from our public education, probably because it was done wrong and served, in pockets of the country, to indoctrinate more that educate. I really admire how religious education is done in the UK and I think we could learn a thing or two from our mother country in that regard.

I spent 35 years teaching in public schools, all of those except one, in Idaho, and I still coach cross country at the school I have worked at for the last 29 years. Much of the insight I have about our public-school system is not only from being a student and teacher in that system for over 50 years, but also from teaching abroad in the UK for a year. I love that our schools are more thorough in educating the whole person, though perhaps somewhat weaker than our European counterparts in the religious education aspect. I love that our schools promote critical thinking and independent thinking. I love that our schools encourage creativity through sports and the arts and it drives me crazy that in the past few years we have begun to starve schools of the funding to continue that work at the expense of competitive testing in areas that students naturally feel weak because they ARE weaker due to the nature of their age.

I have been in schools throughout our country and throughout Europe. In general, American students seem happy and they do have strong opinions about their education, feeling they have some voice in it. I think that is important and we need to continue to encourage them. Right now, in Idaho, the tax structure for public schools throughout the state is inequitable for rural and poor school districts and does not meet our constitutional mandate. Our district, along with many other rural districts in the state, is running a levy to go beyond the state funding so that we can continue to offer the full curriculum we do now. I’m going to stand outside a few yards away and ask for signatures for a ballot initiative that would restore corporate income taxes to their original 8% from the current reduced 7.4% to help ensure more equitable funding for public schools in Idaho because I love public schools.