This is not a New Year’s resolution of any sort. It is more
of an experiment. A practice. An attempt at a discipline. I’m going to endeavor to write this blog
every day for three weeks – from now until Spring classes begin on January 9.
A friend
took on this challenge earlier this year and I admired her for doing so. Then I’ll see what happens next. Perhaps it will be a habit by then (although
research has demonstrated that 21 days to a habit ideas is not exactly correct -- 18-66 days seems to be more accurate).
One thing this surely means is that my entries are going to
be even more mundane than usual. That’s really ok with me. I’m pretty well
convinced that the ordinary is where everything that matters happens anyway.
I’m not too pressured to pursue profundity. If it ever shows up, so be it. So today is mostly about garbage and worms.
I have made another semi-solitary visit to the farm,
preparing for a gathering of friends here later in the month. It is
semi-solitary because Cole has accompanied me, and one is not truly alone if a
dog is involved. He mostly keeps to himself, doesn’t say much, and only
occasionally becomes needy for attention.
I went to bed really early last night, and so I woke up
before the sun, made coffee, and settled down to read. Early morning reading is another practice
I’m attempting to regain during the winter break. This year I want to read
through the
Year B Daily Lectionary Readings and I have been neglecting the
practice of daily Bible reading since just before Thanksgiving. So I sat down
and read through all the Advent readings up to today. That was both a pleasant and powerful
experience. The passages were familiar and well-marked in my Bible (except one in Habakkuk I hadn’t read
in a while). The Old Testament readings majored on the prophets and their words
about God’s plan and promises for his people – Isaiah, Zephaniah, Ezekiel,
Jeremiah, Micah, and Malachi all had something to add. The New Testament
readings focused on Christ’s promised return, and today, the narrative of
Gabriel’s announcement to Mary. When I had caught up, I wanted to keep going.
Listening to this other narrative about another King rather than the crazy narrative I hear daily
during the political insanity of an election year was a welcome change of
atmosphere and hope. I feel more ready to celebrate Christmas.
I took a break and made myself some pancakes – something I
have never done as far as I can remember. Wait, now that I think about it, I do
remember cooking pancakes a couple of times as a teenager. But it has been a
while. I shared one with Cole, and then he and I walked a half mile down the
road cleaning up litter along our property’s frontage on County Road 401. I took
a 30 gallon plastic garbage bag with me and had it filled before we’d made it
three quarters of the way. I left it on the roadside and continued to gather
trash into piles every few yards. Then, since we had to walk back anyway, we
decided to do the same on the other side of the road. I felt like Forrest Gump on his run. I couldn't stop When we got back to the
house, I dug out three more bags from under the kitchen counter and drove back up
the road gathering the trash. Soft drink
cans and plastic bottles, packaging from fast food, and beer cans and bottles
made up 90% of the debris. I don’t get it – the sense that it is somehow ok to
roll down your window and throw your trash wherever you please, that the world
is your trash can, that you can Mess with Texas. I’m not so much outraged as disgusted.
When we were done I drank a limeade (I’m nearly addicted to
Simply Limeade), and read a chapter of Dallas Willard’s
Knowing Christ Today. I enjoyed his argument for the existence of
God based on first cause. I think that’s the first time that argument seemed
persuasive to me rather than question-begging. Cole found the argument dense.
After a lunch of leftovers from last night’s whole wheat vermicelli, I put some pinto beans on to cook, and then
decided to drive to the Lighthouse Quik Shop, a bait house in Elmendorf, TX
near Lake Calaveras, to buy some worms. I wasn’t planning a fishing trip. I’m
working on another experiment – vermiculture.
Vermis is the Latin word for “worm.”
(Hence, vermicelli are “little worms.”) A friend of ours at a church dinner club
two weeks ago inspired me. All of us around the table were discussing home
gardens and organic practices and she said she’d begun to raise her own
earthworms in a plastic box and it was easy. The earthworms serve as a kind of
fast compost pile. You put the organic materials in the box with them and they
turn it into castings (earthworm poop) in no time, and plants love the stuff. I
made a visit to YouTube and found plenty of videos providing the necessary
instruction. I had an old plastic box at the farm, so why not?
I bought about a hundred worms (red wigglers are preferred
to night crawlers) and today’s edition of the San Antonio paper, drilled holes
in the bottom of the box, shredded the paper and dampened it, added the worms
and some food scraps (they don’t like citrus peals or onion skins, I'm told), put the lid
back on and left them in the garage.
They need a little moisture added occasionally. They will
multiply, eat our leftovers, produce castings, and provide for our spring
garden. I’ll take them back to Waco with me when we head that direction.
I finished the beans, read a chapter on our inherent longing for justice from N. T. Wright’s
Simply Christian, and then lay on the
couch and thought about what I’d been reading (that’s code at our house for a
nap).
Somewhere in the middle of all that, I received an email
from my son with his design drawings for a new patio and outdoor kitchen at the
farm, which may become reality this spring. I called and made an appointment
with a recommended landscape company to come out tomorrow and make a bid. And I
received an anticipated call from my doctor with good news from some recent
test results.
What I didn’t do today was a single thing on my to do list,
which included revising the syllabus for three of my courses and organizing my
financial record in anticipation of tax preparation. Somehow, there were more
interesting things to do, like vermiculture.
Tomorrow.
Thirty six cups of coffee, two dozen eggs, three dozen tortillas, pico de gallo, hash browns, and fresh squeezed orange juice from Texas fruit from the valley -- that was breakfast for the pizza group this morning. Hershey, the wiener dog, wandered off into the woods, provoking a search -- Debbie in her pink robe and flip-flops leading the way. We sat around picnic tables under the mesquite trees in perfect seventy degree weather to eat and talk. Matt gave his two year old daughter Evie rides in the wagon behind the John Deere and she laughed out loud the whole time. A game of chicken foot got organized on the front porch. Chris' lost earrings necessitated some plumbing work in the guest bath and a trip to the Wilson County Hardware store for a new P-Trap. David replaced two electrical sockets in the kitchen and bath and put a new chute on the lawn mower. Jenna played her guitar on the front porch. David and Diann took a walk around the pasture with two dogs in tow. Half of us walked over to the big sandstone rock where my cousins and I have been carving our initials for forty years. I led another group on a hike on the perimeter of the property, stopping under the huge oak trees for Matt, Jenna, and Julie to climb. Jared and Sarah arrived to join the group and the Henderson's and Mobley's took a trip to San Antonio to walk the river and eat out, celebrating LeAnn's birthday. The Creeches and Haynes' stayed behind to keep the dogs and played round after round of "What's Yours Like?" Melinda, Jenna, and Chris cleaned up the kitchen and we tuned into the Oklahoma Sooners game, waiting for our Sooner fans to return from the city. The ebb and flow of the day has been simple and rich.
