Rooster Crowing!

       Now that I think about it, I haven't heard the rooster crowing across the street from the Little House for a few days. Hearing it brought back memories of Thailand. For ten or twelve years I lived with the same Thai family while I taught English in a local elementary school. For the first several years I slept on a floor mat. About the time I was thinking that I was getting too old to sleep on the floor they bought me a bed. It wasn't much softer than the floor mat but at least I was off the floor. It was in a tiny room upstairs that had just enough room for the bed and a fan. No air conditioning in that tropical climate but there were windows I could open.

   Possessing a good internal clock I've not used an alarm for many years. The house was toward the end of a quiet street so there was no vehicle noise. On occasion the Buddhist temple, a few blocks away, would broadcast a chanting monk. They had a metal gong, that when struck, sounded like a gunshot. Nighttime quiet was sometimes broken by dogs barking or dog fights. In the mornings I knew it was time to arise when roosters crowed and the Muslim call to prayer was broadcast from the local mosque at 6:00 am.

  The local rooster primed these memories.

Takk for alt,

Al

"My" house in Thailand.

This and that...

      Some welcome rain fell last night. The town fain gauge showed .85". Three miles away the rain gauge at the pasture recorded .6" Reports suggest that Brookings, 15 miles away received over 2", I'm jealous. It's very dry and crop yields will likely suffer.

    Beanfields are turning yellow before they drop their leaves. Some corn fields are showing brown while others are totally green. Pasture grass is short and some cattlemen are offering hay to cattle on pasture. Diesel fuel is over $5 a gallon so farmers fuel cost for harvest will be very high.

   Odie doesn't like thunder. He hears it long before I, which is no surprise given my hearing impairment. The sound of thunder interrupts his desire to play. When I go to the bathroom in the night, he grabs a toy hoping to play. He doesn't understand that he's eight. He almost caught a neighbor's Guinea Hen in our yard.

Takk for alt,

Al

 

"Inner Work"

       Working to prepare candidates for pastoral ministry I emphasized the importance of doing one's "inner work."  Without that preparation pastors are likely to be triggered to emotional reactions rather than wise responses. So, what is "inner work?"

" Core Concepts of Inner Work

Self-Exploration: Uncovering the root causes of intense emotional triggers rather than just reacting to external circumstances.
Shadow and Inner Child Work: Engaging with disowned or unconscious parts of the psyche to heal past hurts and recover lost vulnerabilities or strengths.
Mind-Body Integration: Moving from automatic, habitual reactions to thoughtful, conscious responses." Internet
Why is this important?  Perhaps a pastor has an emotional response to a member of the church council. If he/she has done inner work, he/she is perhaps able to trace the response to a difficult sibling. Then rational response rather than emotional reaction is possible.
So why do I bring this up now? It's triggered by a short video clip on the internet. Olivia Miles is a rookie (first year player) on the WNBA Lynx. She's having a phenomenal season. She'll almost certainly to selected "Rookie of the Year". There's also conversation that she may be chosen WNBA Most Valuable Player.
When she was asked in the video why she's so confident she replied. In college I had a significant knee injury. During rehabilitation I did my inner work. I let go of caring what others think, etc.
Never before have I heard of an athlete crediting inner work. To see the actual interview go to my Facebook page where I've reposted the video.
Takk for alt,
Al
PS The Monday edition of The Wall Street Journal had a third of a page article about Miles.

Time for some poetry!

 David Whyte (b.1955)

Fire in the Earth

And we know, when Moses was told,
in the way he was told,
“Take off your shoes!” He grew pale from that simple

reminder of fire in the dusty earth.
He never recovered
his complicated way of loving again

and was free to love in the same way
he felt the fire licking at his heels loved him.
As if the lion earth could roar

and take him in one movement.
Every step he took
from there was carefully placed.

Everything he said mattered as if he knew
the constant witness of the ground
and remembered his own face in the dust

the moment before revelation.
Since then thousands have felt
the same immobile tongue with which he tried to speak.

Like the moment you too saw, for the first time,
your own house turned to ashes.
Everything consumed so the road could open again.

Your entire presence in your eyes
and the world turning slowly
into a single branch of flame.

David Whyte (b.1955) is an Anglo-Irish poet who moved to the United States in 1981 and works for a deeper incorporation of poetry into American life. This poem is from River Flow: New & Selected Poems Revised Edition (Many Rivers Press, 2012). 

All's well with Al and Odie!

Takk for alt,

Al

Late summer 1959.

       At my age memory stretches back a long time. In late summer 1959, enlistment in the Marines was looming. Enlisting in the spring for a September 19, report date, gave me enough time to wonder what I was in for. My life to that point was as provincial as provincial could be. Minneapolis/St. Paul was as far from my South Dakota home as I had been.

    On the day I left for Boot Camp, Dad took me to Arlington to catch a bus to Omaha. Meeting several other recruits, we were taken to taken to the airport. Boarding DC-6, for the flight to San Diego we had our last freedom until after graduating from Boot Camp. Enjoying my first airplane ride was tempered by wondering what awaited at the end of the flight.

   In the San Diego airport, we were met by a Marine Seargent who quickly demonstrated that the honeymoon was over. At Marine Corp Recruit Depot, we were formed into platoons and housed in Quonset Hut barracks that would be our home for the next twelve weeks.

  At the recent family reunion, I was asked why I chose the Marines. The military draft was active in 1959. Wanting to take a break from college the draft would have come for me. Army, Air Force and Navy were also options. The Marines had a provision that recruits with two years of college could enlist for three years instead of the standard four years. Navy and Air Force were both for four years. The Army was two years but didn't appeal. The challenge of the Marines appealed foe I enlisted for three, and the rest is history.

Takk for alt,

Al

The Marines were not all 'spit and polish' but there was also some of that.  Okinawa 1962

Four Followers?

       Perhaps the number of blog followers has doubled.  At the recent reunion at least two persons said they were going to follow my blog, thus doubling from you two faithful followers to four. WOW! So, this post will attempt to bring them up to speed on the need to cut cedars.

    Much of my hobby farm is planted to native grasses. Near these fields are rows of cedar trees planted for the benefit of wildlife. They have several advantages for this. Deer do not like to graze on them as they do on other coniferous trees. Their bushy growth provides winter windbreaks to shelter pheasants and deer. Pheasants often roost is them at night safe from predators such as fox and coyotes. Their berries provide nesting habitat and food for songbirds.  

    It's that later reality, food for songbirds, that prove to old adage that "no good deed goes on unpunished."  Birds consuming the berries defecate the seeds over the grassland and many cedars take root. If they are not removed the result is compromise of the grassland. Cedars growing randomly in the grass destroys the integrity of the grass for ground nesting birds such as pheasants. Prior to white settlement cedars were controlled by bison, who will not tolerate them, and prairie fires. With the bison removed and fires suppressed cedars are now a major problem on western grasslands. 

   Today, Odie and I, walked a section of grass near rows of cedars. This grass was cut for hay in July. When cedar seedlings were found I cut them off below the bottom branch. Coniferous trees cut that way do not grow back. Deciduous trees, on the other hand, will simply resprout.  

Takk for alt,

Al

Some of my grass.

Success!

       The Bergh Family Reunion came to a successful conclusion this morning.  Joy Ranch, the retreat center with a western theme, about 20 miles NW of Watertown SD, is an ideal setting. The family members attending chose between two alternatives. Some, such as I, arrived Friday afternoon and stayed until Sunday morning. Others, living in some closer proximity, spent Saturday at the Ranch.

    Odie spent the time at doggy camp, aka., Canine Country Club Kennel in Brookings. Apparently, it was a good experience for him. While he greeted me warmly when I recovered him, he wasn't wildly enthusiastic. The kennel staff reported that he did well with the other dogs. 

Takk for alt,

Al

One of the Ranch staff took this picture of those of us who remained until Sunday. She did a good job of ascertaining every person can be seen.