Sierra Ferrell’s harmony on this song takes me straight back to childhood in Trinity Pentecost Mission in Springville.
Sierra Ferrell’s harmony on this song takes me straight back to childhood in Trinity Pentecost Mission in Springville.
We just watched “Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre” (1996) and it was very good. I read the novel many years ago so I don’t recall details well enough to know how faithful it was to the book. But now I want to watch other adaptations. Recommendations?
I’ve thought about this video shared by Denny several times over the past couple of days. Our cultural expectations of what constitutes a good life can blind us to the possibilities found by others. I’m trying–haltingly and inconsistently, to be sure–to extricate myself from that worldview.
The most trustworthy people in the world are those who have been to the underworld. Those who’ve been torn open, rearranged, and made new by suffering. Myths are riddled with descents into the underworld wherein the hero confronts the darkness of the shadowy depths and reemerges with gifts and lessons. This is a kind of wisdom that is not on offer in the clouds or on earth. It can only be found below.
As of yesterday, I finished my two big summer projects: refinish my in-laws’ dining set and build a cabinet for a friend. Today I cleaned and organized the garage, which was getting quite out of hand while I was working on those projects.
My remaining to-do list:
Plans for next projects:
A few months ago, a very generous friend decided to give me some of his grandfather’s tools: a bench grinder, a small drill press, and a benchtop disc sander.
All he asked in return was an open-front, mobile cabinet that he could use in his garage and for cookouts. He already had a countertop. So I built it of birch plywood and added four lockable wheels and adjustable shelves.
I also surprised him with a memorial to his grandfather burned inside the cabinet.
I experimented with burning through the paint on some scrap and it looked okay but it also had a decent chance of going wrong. I decided to leave it unpainted and then finished the spot with some spray polyurethane for protection.
Here it is in its new home
Hanging cayennes are so pretty. And that’s red switchgrass to the left.
I like the “On this Day” feature here at micro.blog. Today it brought up a thought experiment about consciousness from last year. Still seems like an interesting possibility to me, combining something like panpsychism with something like reincarnation.
People ought to be warned about middle age. My daughter is 18 and needs help dealing with increasingly adult situations. My mom is 78 and is able to handle very little by herself anymore. Increasing pressure and responsibilities at work. I know it happens to everyone. Nevertheless, it’s a lot!
That’s some big tomatoes! They’re an heirloom variety; unfortunately the person we got them from couldn’t remember the name. My tomato-loving wife likes them, though, so that’s all that matters.
My newsletter subscriptions are shifting in the right direction: less cultural criticism, more woodworking.
Picked up an unusual (to me), older nativity set today. The images are decals/stickers, not painted. Nevertheless, it caught my eye and it was inexpensive at $15.
Entrance to the back yard. Watch out for hanging cucumbers!
Bad news: I got a minor cut from one of my chisels. Good news: I’ve successfully put a sharp edge on a chisel.
Today is Darcy’s first day on her new job at Bath and Body Works. It’s a new chapter for her!
In episode 17 of the M&T podcast, Joshua mentions his influences and it’s all the usual suspects:
I’ve recently discovered Borgmann but I haven’t read much at all of his work. I read Schumacher’s Small is Beautiful many years ago but I’d like to read it again.
Also, when they start writing his biographies, it will be amazing how influential Wendell Berry has been, despite being virtually unknown to the general public.
As with all opinions that don’t matter, I hold firmly to the idea that the Midwest consists of Wisconsin, Illinois, Michigan, Indiana, and Ohio. It seems to me that the historical roots of the Midwest lie in the Old Northwest Territory (named because it was northwest of the Ohio River), which consisted of the states named above plus a piece of Minnesota.
The Midwest is also characterized by industrial centers–Chicago, Detroit, Cleveland, Milwaukee. The further you get from those classic industrial cities the less Midwestern you are. Honestly, here in southern Indiana we’re more of a border region between the Midwest and the South.
But you know what’s even better than state line and arbitrary region names? Watersheds. It grounds our sense of geography in something more real than political boundaries. In this post, Todd writes about one way to do that. If we use his system of naming regions after river watersheds, I live in the nation of Ohio, state of Wabash, county of Patoka-White, and city of East Fork White.
Rachel and I are now lifetime members of our county’s historical society. This is not step one of my Grand Plan to Change the World. It is, however, step one in connecting with my community, warts and all. Localism doesn’t mean much if it’s all just in your head.
We’re shifting to late summer and that means the buzzing drone of annual cicadas. Nothing sounds more like summer than that.
Over the weekend, Rachel harvested 3.5 pounds of Concord grapes and made jelly! I’m having some on biscuits now. So cool!
Easily my favorite, most used flea market tool is a Klein folding rule. Sturdy, compact, and better than a tape measure in several ways. And the solid feel when each section snaps into place is satisfying. 😄
Sometimes I go looking for Rachel in the backyard and can’t find her because of the density of the vegetation.
I was glad to read this bit from Bill McKibben in his tribute to Wendell Berry:
I’m lucky that I was reading Ed Abbey at the same charged moment, because that helped me love the wild as fully as the pastoral, and the irreverent as fully as the good.
I’ve often considered the same contrast, but with Berry and Robinson Jeffers. Berry a poet of the domestic; marriage and community are some of his most common themes. Jeffers is a poet of the wild; hawks and granite and the roar of the Pacific are everywhere in his work.
Having read quite a bit of both of them, I cannot imagine them anywhere other than where they are. Wendell Berry writing and working his farm, considering the soil along the Kentucky River. Jeffers looking out over the Pacific as it washes over the granite cliffs. They are the two most “placed” writers I’ve ever encountered. Some day when I have more time, I’d like to write more about this, with specific examples from their work.
William Stringfellow’s discussion of the Powers in An Ethic for Christians and Other Aliens in a Strange Land had a large impact on me when I read it many years ago. (I’m less familiar with Walter Wink’s more substantial and systematic writing on the subject, which I believe is derived from Stringfellow’s thought.) The Powers, Stringfellow said, are essentially every institution, corporation, ideology, etc. He also argued that they have some sort of creaturely existence, i.e., they’re not just “ideas.” And, just like humans, they are fallen, fighting against their own death and in rebellion against the Creator.
Here’s where I get sloppy with ideas and start (mis)using them for my own ends. I’ve written about my interpretation of the Garden of Eden here and here. Essentially, I think it’s the mythological rendering of our break from the nonhuman world deep in our evolutionary history. I agree with the “wrongness” at the back of the idea of “fallenness”, but I think it’s a problem with humans, and not shared by the rest of the cosmos.
So while there are indeed Powers, I do not believe they are universally fallen. I believe Stringfellow is right in a lot of ways, but I prefer a more pagan shaping of the idea. The Powers are indeed primal and ancient forces that are greater than humans and shape human lives. And because I’m an animist, I believe the Powers have some sort of independent existence outside the heads of humans. (Jung’s idea of archetypes is useful here but I’d rather stay out of that mode of thought for the moment.)
The Powers just are. They may or may not be interested in your or any other human life. They may or may not be perceived by you as harmful or beneficial. Like the more materialist idea of the “powers of nature,” they are simply doing their thing.
Stringfellow’s belief in the incorrigibility of the Powers is right in some ways. There are some Powers (the nation state, corporations, ideologies) that will always resist any diminishment of their status. And those who are made captive by those same Powers (politicians (yes, all of them), CEOs, ideologues) have been in some sense possessed. Those who try to reform them into something essentially different will be disappointed.
But all Powers are not like this, are they? I’ve been struggling to name the difference. The metaphor that comes to mind has to do with distance. The incorrigible Powers are, relative to the self, distant. They have influence over any given individual of course, but it’s a mediated influence. And the influence is unidirectional: they have some power over you, but you have none over them. You must suffer their existence.
But then there are what I’ll call the Homely Powers. These are the Powers with whom you can have some sort of relationship. These are the powers that constitute your life, e.g., your ancestors and the beings who live in your immediate environment. A daily prayer practice can be seen as an exercise in presenting yourself before the Homely Powers; in it, you are reminded of your place in the nexus and recommit yourself to your responsibilities in the relationship.
Framed like this, the Powers are not a monolithic, evil force. Rather, they are amoral in the same way as the forces of nature. Some subset of them are, in fact, actually constitutive parts of your self. In this way, a person is not simply a mariner caught in hostile winds. Certainly there are hostile winds. There are also, however, winds that carry you home.