Category: Short Essays Page 13 of 14

My intention is to spend time in various sections of this large park. There are many wide trails which I avoid in order to find the untrammeled forest. The canopy is just beginning to fill with new leaves. Today was cloudy/sunny.
Two words aptly coin the floral situation today…fresh and delicate. New leaves of many plants such as toothed vibernum, maple, poison ivy, and honeysuckle have entire leaves which are quite beautiful. Insects haven’t had a chance to feed. I saw many subtle colors and strong definitions of vein patterns. Leaves of greenbrier, with their strong sharp thorns are small. They are shiny and tender. Growth is half way and going fast.

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I’m doin fifty eight in the slow lane
With a 70’s right on my ass
I stay the course
Speedometer steady
Under the speed limit by 2mph
And mister eighty mph
Streaks past on my left
Weaves in and weaves out
I see him blur by
Right at the edge of death
Pushing, always pushing
Get outta my way you asshole
You son of a bitch
in my little crushed tin can Honda civic
Competing with big ass trucks
And vans the size of Walmarts
I’m paying attention, I’m scared
I got both hands on the wheel
ITS ROAD RAGE DITTY DO DA
Rear view mirror – red flashing lights
This is a holy cow moment
A big boxy EMS truck
Sirens me into panic
Comes up with its dancing yellow lights
Showering me with emergency
Its road rage ditty do da
It’s hot baby
Where’s a side street?
Where’s an exit ramp
No solf shoulder, it’m stuck
Take it take it
Little ole me in my little death trap
Knees against the steering wheel
Seat all the way back
There’s another one, right on my tail
“Where’you going so fast and all that?
Chill, cool down, slow yourself”
Three feet from my bumper
Not what I learned in driving school
Car length for every ten mph
I’m hanging back at 38 MPH
I can tell she’s late for work,
I’m in her way. She’s thinking what?
She blasts horn, shouts out her window
“Get the fulk out of da way!”
Her monster SUV is doing the talking
it’s the journey, not the destination
I am lost in a chaos of speeding metal
Of plastic, and rubber, and noise
Trapped in the center lane
A form of solitary confinement
On this s u p e r h i g h w a y of insane
ROAD RAGE DITTY DO DA
Cars this way, every which way,
Over me, under me, left and right
And little ole me
It’s a DITTY DA DA ROAD RAGE world
All stressed out and scared and stuff
Me, all retired and slow
Just trying to be defensive
Don’t want no accident
It’s a full course press out here
And it’s coming from everywhere
Why does everybody hate me?
I just want to go home
Is that so wrong?
NO MORE ROAD RAGE DITTY DO DA

“There is not a single thing different inside of everything than is in each of us. We’re all made of the same stuff. It’s the construction that’s different. That construction has a long period – going back some fifteen billion years to the beginning. We are left with construction plans in our DNA and genes that contain blueprints of all those earlier construction projects.”

Albert Sweitzer said these words in a lecture in 1913. He wanted us to see our connection to the big picture. Who, for example, recognizes themselves in their pet dog? There is no physical resemblance, but there is reciprocal love. We recognize ourselves by the dog’s love because we love. We see the dog having the same functions we have.

How do we recognize ourselves in a dragonfly? Again, common functions provide the answer. What is important is the reason why we should look for similarities in all things. All is sacred. Every single smidge of matter, no matter how tiny or how huge, no matter how complex or how simple, offers us a looking glass to reflect. Communion of all different matter each with its own individuality is the key to understanding the reason for the universe. All things in the universe have three characteristics. They are interconnected, they are differentiated from one another, and they each have their own individuality.

If we recognize ourselves in the humblest of creatures, such as a caterpillar crossing a road, is there not the possibility that we will treat that caterpillar with respect and dignity?

Behind the endless diversity of life and non-life, we seek to recognize a spiritual creator that participates in everything. Seeing God in all creation is a good way to respect, treasure, and preserve.

Homecoming Farm is a three acre organic farm located on the grounds of the Dominican Sisters Motherhouse in North Amityville. My wife Nancy and I have a work-share. We work four hours a week and take home our weekly share of fresh vegetables. Starting in May and ending in Mid November, the farm is abuzz with activity.

Don, the farmer, asked for help planting Kale on our first day back. Don prepared a bed with the tractor. There are fifty 200 foot long beds that have to be tilled to prepared he soil for planting. The beds are put to rest in late November. Don adds compost to the beds and they lie fallow over the winter.

Don had planted Siberian Kale seeds over a month ago in flats with 128 cells. The flats are set up in the hoop house tunnel to germinate. The tight, white roots made it necessary to push them out of each cell. Many of the cells had two plants which had to be separated. Don set up three strings the length of the beds and laid a 100 foot measuring tape along the edge. “Plant the kale plugs a foot apart.”

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There are several smaller steps to be taken before the first step. When I planned a backpacking trip, thinking was the first step. That process included where, when, how, why, and what. After all the preparation, the expectation of shouldering pack and taking the first step finally happens. It’s a step of intention, will power, and hope. There is built-in insurance but still the possibility that anything could happen to spoil the planning and preparation.

Why all the fuss? Many of the hikes are only going to take a few hours. Yet, after the first step, there’s a sense of relief. Just follow the blazes and enjoy nature. It takes a lot of effort to escape the hustle-bustle, the noise, the chaos of daily routines. A sense of satisfaction results with the first step and a sigh of relief. The first step is medicine. Once I step out, a holistic feeling of “this is good for me.” kicks in. I’m on my way to sanity and better health.

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A heavy downpour forces the harvest to pause. A few remain in the fields but from my point of view, I only see green rows of leafy vegetables. I have moved into the garlic shed to continue work with the Sicilian Red soft neck garlic. Farmer Don asked me to cut the stalks, brush off excess soil, and trim the roots. I had 8 trays to process.

I heard thunder with raindrops pelting on the new metal roof. A sense of isolation felt good. I was alone with my favorite job on the farm in the garlic shed, almost a shrine to me. One clap of thunder that seemed to be right overhead caught my attention. I looked out and saw a yellow jacket at the far end of a row. It was Don bending over, checking the progress of one of the crops. I taste a clove and instantly feel the burn of fresh garlic.

My hands have developed their own intelligence as I handle the bulbs. After a few years of working with garlic, I can process a bulb with hardly a glance. As a result, my hands have become stronger. Overhead, bunches of garlic hang on wires to cover the entire ceiling. What could be worse than having a cloak of garlic surrounding me. It’s a slow process and the 8 trays I have been assigned takes a few hours. And when I look up, I see job security. There’s plenty more bulbs to hold and peel and trim.

At the end of the season in mid November, Don gifted me with a bunch of garlic bulbs that had been scarred when they were dug. This is like getting free medicine. Back home, I skinned all the cloves, put then in olive oil in a jar. I was able to use this garlic until February. Once it was gone, I felt empty.

What he remembers of his visits to the Hempstead Plains
May 14, 2015

85 year old Darrel Ford, of Babylon Village, recalls his experiences exploring the Hempstead Plains in the 1940’s. He was a young teenager during the early 1940’s:

“There were several horse liveries at the edges. I’d hire a horse and ride for miles. Sometimes the grass was three feet high. I had the feeling that I was out west. There was no Levittown so to me as a young boy the area seemed huge.I was told that there were a lot of cattle before I first visited. I remember prairie warblers, bobolinks, upland plovers, there were hardly any people. I rarely saw another person. There were panoramic views of the sky with no buildings what so ever. I was told that the Indians burned the area and that led to the exclusion of trees and shrubs. The place was untouched by plow. One of the strangest comments I read is: “It ceased to excite the wonder of residents and travelers.”

He recalled black eye-d Susan, wild indigo, blue vervain, blueberries and blackberries, and birds foot violets.

“I used to see smoke in the distance.” It meant that there were brush fires on the plains in the early ‘40’s”