There is more

Just in the last few weeks three people that I have known have passed on to the next life. The sorrow of those left behind is particularly difficult at this time of year when so much of the activity around us is in pursuit of merriment and cheer.
Yet it is precisely the message of Christmas that brings consolation and hope to the grieving. The arrival of the God-child in our broken world was foretold centuries ago by the prophet Isaiah (Isaiah 9:2,6) and again affirmed in the opening pages of the New Testament:

"The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light. And for those who lived in the land where death casts its shadow, a light has shined." Matthew 4: 16 NLT

And don’t we all have moments when the shadows of life seem to overtake us, shadows of loss, and failure, of pain and regret, dashed hopes, broken hearts. ...And deep within those moments, there’s a longing for light to dispel the shadows. Yes, even today there is light and hope…

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it. John 1: 5 NLT

Yes and there is more. The wonder and mystery of God choosing to dwell among us, fallen that we are, cannot be explained with logic but only in the language of His infinite and incomprehensible love.

When the Father’s Wisdom wanted to communicate His love
He spoke it in one final perfect Word.
He spoke the Incarnation and then so was born the Son. His final word was Jesus, He needed no other one.
Spoke flesh and blood so He could bleed and make a way Divine.
And so was born the baby who would die to make it mine.
(Excerpt from Final Word by Michael Card)

Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing… (Romans 15:13 NASB).

A mournful path

Today the Hester family traversed once more the mournful path to lay a loved one to rest in the Hester Cemetery near Norwalk Ohio. With the passing of Mary Jane Hester my Uncle Bob has lost another wife to the grave and his children a second mother. His first wife Dorothea passed when the children, my cousins Sandy, John and Jim were young children. When Bob and Mary Jane were married, our family was enlarged with her two daughters Amy and Lisa from a previous marriage and my cousins gained a mother.

From the funeral home on East Main Street the procession made its way down Old State Road, past Woodlawn Cemetery where my Great-Great Grandfather Loren Webb is buried, past the reservoir, past the farm where my Grandfather Webb Hester raised sheep, and then cut across past the hospital to Ridge Road.

Like a ribbon furling in the breeze, the procession flowed over the hills and vales of that winding road through fertile farmland. I could not help but think of the generations of my family who had come before us, that had settled here and lived from the land.

The cemetery is surrounded by fields once farmed by my great great grandfather Martin M. Hester and his father Martin, and across the road is the homestead they constructed in 1835 still occupied by descendants. The diaries, letters and artifacts they left behind tell a rich story of labor and love and faith. Many of them came to their final resting place here at this sacred place, a place of deep-rooted history.

I stood with my arm around Sandy watching the pall bearers fulfill their grievous task. And like the cold wintry wind blowing across the hill, a wave of sorrow overtook her at the loss of yet another mother.

Yet the faith of so many of my ancestors is that which I hold in my heart today. "Jesus said to her, 'I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in Me will live even if he dies, and everyone who lives and believes in Me will never die. Do you believe this?'" (John 11: 25-26 NASB).

Dad and me

We go back a long way, Dad and me. I remember on Sunday afternoons when Dad would stretch out on the couch, he would invite me to get in the "back seat" behind him. That felt comfy and secure.

In the summer we'd pack up our car at about 4 a.m. and head off for some new place to visit. Places like Serpent Indian Mound, My Old Kentucky Home, the Smokey Mountains, the Wisconsin Dells and Niagara Falls. He wanted to make sure we got the opportunity to see as much as we could of this wonderful USA.

Sunday afternoons were often times for going to Grandma and Grandpa's going for a ride, and visiting the farm market to get a big tin of cherries or maybe a peck or two of apples or peaches.

Our house went through a lot f remoideling over the years. It turned out to be one of the nicest ones around. I always appreciated the big yard we had to play in, the swing that hung from that big ol' apple tree, and comping out in the tent in the back yard every summer.

While Mom was teaching me how to bake, Dad was enjoying the things we baked. He'd always say there wasn't much sense in making a single batch of cookies so we'd double the recipe most of the time.

One summer my 4-H project involved designing a work area in my bedroom. While I was away at camp, Dad made the plan into reality by installing builtin-in drawers, counter top and bookshelves. He and I got an "A" on the project.

Dad has a good sense of humor. After I left home for college he typed funny letters. One of them read, "This will be a letter of reading between the lines cause we don't have any paper without lines." That was back in the days of manual typewriters.

I don't know how I first got interested in photography, but maybe it was because Dad often carried around a camera with him and would document all our vacation travels. As soon as I was old enough I was shooting pictures too. Later on in life I became a professional photographer. He also has kept a lot of the stories I wrote in school and now I'm a professional writer.

I still like to stir up goodies in the kitchen. Better go get a cake in the oven.

Happy Birthday Dad!

Love, Deb

Veterans

I am pleased to have the opportunity to honor my parents and my brother Bob on this Veterans Day thanking them once again for their service to our country.

My Father served from August 1942 to November 1945 in the South Pacific, involved in the Southern Philippines, Luzon and Bismarck Archipalago. My Mother served stateside from February 1944 to December 1945.

A story my Father wrote on this is recorded in a previous blog post from June 19, 2009 entitled "Good Soldiers." http://firstlightofdawn.blogspot.com/2009/06/good-soldiers.html

Another blog post with nice photos of them both in uniform are on a blog post from May 24, 2008 entitled Remembering Pt 2 http://firstlightofdawn.blogspot.com/2008/05/remembering-pt-3.html

My brother's four years of service in the Coast Guard during the Vietnam War was posted December 21, 2008 http://firstlightofdawn.blogspot.com/2008/12/crossroads.html

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An excerpt from Dad's writings: We served our country and did what we were told, nothing heroic and nothing to be ashamed of either. We were good soldiers.

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No one can measure the value of your service. Thank you.

Autumn sightings

With the chill in the air and darkness settling in earlier every night we already miss the long, warm days of summer and shudder to think of donning coats and navigating slippery highways. But the past week of glorious fall color and warm temperatures has made this time of transition delightful.

I captured every spare moment I could this past week with being out-of-doors. Here's a bit of a travelogue of seasonal sightings:

Saturday, October 17 - A walk at the Snow Road Metropark

• A squirrel with his mouth stuffed with a massive wad of leaves, bedding for the winter.


• Pawpaw fruit lying on a bed of leaves. I rarely see them because the deer snatch them up so quickly. The American Indian is credited with spreading this tree around the eastern U.S. Some research has shown the pawpaw fruit to be effective in treating of cancer.

Sunday, October 18 - a trip to my home county to visit my parents

• Along Butler Road, much harvesting going on, and even into the night there were lights in the fields; A boy on a tractor pulling a wagonload of corn from field to storage.


• Folks enjoying a wagon ride, pulled by two draft horses.


• The park where I spent so many hours playing as a child alight with gold and crimson leaves

Monday, October 19 - Blossom Hill, Brecksville

• From where my church sits high up on Blossom Hill, one can see for miles and far in the distance the twinkling lights of the city. Above, the canopy of sky was transformed at sunset into a canvas of watercolor, blue, pink and yellow. Underneath that sky on the wide open green spaces a soccer game was in progress.

Tuesday, October 20 - Picnic area on The Valley Parkway just off Brookpark Road

• The colors seem to be changing more every day. I keep watch for blue heron, had spotted one there once before. A large tree recently fell along the river bank, showing its massive root system, and narrowing the path along the bank.

Wednesday, October 21 - Tinkers Creek Gorge, Bedford Reservation of the Cleveland Metroparks. I think it also may be considered part of Cuyahoga Valley National Park.

• The time/temperature display across the street from my office said 72 degrees. Ate lunch on the picnic table under dark blue skies.


• Full parking lot at the "scenic overlook", Tinkers Creek Gorge 200 feet below. It is a U.S. Natural Landmark, described as one of the most spectacular views in all of northeast Ohio.


• At Bridal Veil Falls, several flights of stairs allow easy passage into the Gorge to get up-close and personal with the breathtaking beauty of the Falls. (Photos coming next week)


• A sign at a roadside market on Tinkers Creek Road: PUMKIN. (Do you pronounce the middle "P"?)

Thursday, October 22nd - Back at Snow Road Metropark

• To the accompaniment of marching band practice in the distance, bursts of wind dislodging a great many leaves, creating a rain of fluttering yellow.


• A four-point buck pursuing four doe along the creek bed.

Didn't make it to the gym this week but it was too nice out to be cooped up inside on a treadmill. With the wind and rain expected over the next few days, the season of bare branches will be hastened.

Mothers' arms

When I was taking the sheets off the clothes line this afternoon I thought of the many times my mother tucked me into a bed with clean fresh sheets. I wonder how many hundreds of times she ran the diapers through the wringer washer and hung them on the line.

Often when I'm in the kitchen stirring up something sweet, like tonight when I made a cake from scratch for my Mom's birthday, I think of how it all started with "helping" Mom in the kitchen. Even when I was quite small, we'd pull up a chair to the counter for me to stand on so I could reach the counter. The best part of helping was licking the mixer beaters and the bowl.

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When I go past my little display of Girl Scout ephemera in the hall way I think of her involvement as a troop leader for me and my classmates and as a Cub Scout den mother for my brother. She was a part of all the merit badges we earned. I thought of how she wrote a letter to me at scout camp even though I was gone just a week.

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And all the snuggles and hugs, the comforting words, of immeasurable worth. Thanks Mom, for all you poured into my life. I know you loved being a mother and it has made such a difference in my life.

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Happy Birthday to you!

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"Mothers' arms are made of tenderness and sweet sleep blesses the child who lies therein."

Tropical blooms

From the tropical gardens of Cleveland Botanical Garden taken this month:

Cana Tropicana on the left and Flowering Banana

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There was no label with this plant. Does anyone know what it is?

A sentimental "moment"

Scrolling through the couple hundred photos from my nephew's wedding stored on my computer, I stopped on one, that of my niece and three nephews all together again for the first time in quite a few years.

Though I had looked at it many times, this time I had one of those moments of mixed emotions. My heart swelled with pride, for all that they have become, for their fine character and achievements. I felt joy in remembering their growing up years. In my mind's eye I could see a slide show of many of the images I've made of them over the years and with each image I could remember the circumstances. Those memories are what make is seem like it was just yesterday.... Wasn't it just yesterday that Nate was reading his Sesame Street book, and here we are at his wedding, and how the years have flown by! Mixed in with all the other emotions is a deep sense of gratitude for who they are and the time I've had to spend with them.

Here is a moment captured some twenty years ago:

Standing: Melissa and Nathan, children of my older brother Bob and his wife June, and seated, Brian and Craig, children of my younger brother Dan and his wife Lyn.

Branching out

I'm happy to announce an addition to our family tree by way of marriage. My nephew Nathan Webb Phillips tied the knot with Karen Jasinski on July 18th at Saint Catherine’s Church in Norwood, Massachusetts, just outside of Boston.

Nathan grew up in Maine and graduated from Wheaton College in Norton, Mass. and currently works at John Hancock Financial in downtown Boston. Karen graduated from Providence College and currently works as an administrator at Suffolk University in Boston.

I arrived in the Boston area a couple of days prior to the big event and was delighted to have the opportunity to get acquainted with Karen and her family. Her parents Tim and Mary hosted a cookout at their home in Norwood on Thursday evening for the bridal party and their families.

It's evident to me that Karen and Nate are a great match for each other and I wish them all the best!

Daughters of the American Revolution

Listening to all the fireworks going off in my neighborhood until after midnight last night, I wondered how many gave even a passing thought to the great sacrifices that accomplished our nation's independence. I tried to imagine what it was like to actually be in midst of the Revolutionary War (or any war for that matter) and hear live canons and firearms.

It was on this day in 1776 that the Declaration of Independence was adopted by the Continental Congress, announcing that the thirteen American colonies were then independent from the British Empire. Yet the American Revolutionary War continued on until 1783.

I watched part of a 2 hour program on PBS last night about the Revolutionary War entitled "Rebels and Redcoats", as told by a British historian. As I watched the re-enactments dramatized on screen I thought of my fifth great-grandfather Darius Webb who fought in the Revolutionary War.

It took a considerable amount of research by my cousin and researcher Jonathan Webb Deiss to verify in fact that Darius was a veteran of that war. Service of his brothers Ebenezer, Jr., Christopher and Jonathan had been clearly established, but no Compiled Service Record could be found on file at the National Archives for Darius. Eventually though Jonathan found Darius' service records associated with three Massachusetts regiments that were raised up in Hampshire County, Massachusetts for very short terms of service.

With tremendous gratitude to Jonathan Webb Deiss, all the official documentation is available that verifies that I am indeed a "daughter" of the American Revolution. However, I have not officially applied to the National Society which has as its objectives, historic preservation, patriotism and education. These are all things that I value greatly yet for now it seems enough to know that I am a descendent of Revolutionary patriot without having to process all the official paperwork.

America
Lyrics by Samuel Francis Smith
My country, 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims' pride,
From every mountainside
Let freedom ring!

Good Soldiers

Looking through the viewfinder of my camera at the soldiers lined up for my hometown Memorial Day services, I imagined that this day of remembrance took them back through the vivid memories of life and survival in a war zone. Though many decades have passed, they can still feel the recoil of the gun, still hear the sound of enemy planes, still see their comrade fall.

Indeed, by the end of the day, Dad said it had been a difficult day of remembering.

In honor of my parents' service in WWII, I bring to you this story written by my father some years ago to include in a book of memories for my mother:

Do you remember when we were still in high school? War was about all there was in the news. Hitler had defeated Poland and then Norway, Denmark, and France and was looking across the channel at England. Japan had all the coastal ports of China and the only way we could get to China was from Burma and over the hump.

The United States had over one hundred war ships in Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941 when the Japanese made their surprise attack. Somebody must have really been asleep.

It wasn't long until the whole country was producing war material and the draft was taking all the men. I have heard that at one time there was not a man in New London of military age. All production of every factory went to the war effort Gasoline, sugar and many other things were rationed. The speed limit was thirty five miles per hour.

Most of the women then were homemakers and stayed at home with the kids, but with the war going many of them took jobs in factories and did the work of the men. None of us wanted to go into the military but when we were called we went because our country was in a position where we had no choice but to fight for our existence as a nation.

For me military service wasn't all that bad, there was good days and some really bad days but generally we just marked a lot of time. The thing that bothered me the most was the terrible loneliness. From the time I left home until I returned over three years later, I had not seen a person that I had seen before.

I was proud when you went in the service and I carried your picture in a frame that I made from a shipping crate with my pocket knife. We have that picture here on the wall today. We served our country and did what we were told, nothing heroic and nothing to be ashamed of either. We were good soldiers.

Thanks Dad for telling this story. I'm sure glad you came home! Happy Fathers' Day!

More stories to be told....

Orchids (and a magnolia)

The Orchidaceae (or Orchid family) is the largest family of the flowering plants and contains as many as 22,000 species. A great many, perhaps hundreds were on display in the orchid show at the Cleveland Botanical Gardens this past spring. Most were planted in the natural environments provided by the Costa Rican and Madagascar glass houses.

Every Friday a colleague participating on the archivists discussion forum delights us all with his flower photo of the day. Sonny Carter gave me permission to post a link to his web site. Here is what he captured this week-- a magnolia blooming near where he parked his car:
http://www.sonc.com/friday_june_5_2009.htm

Old Glory

A hush fell over the sanctuary where 300 gathered to memorialize Walter Gonska, someone I only briefly knew, a friend's father. Two Navy men in dress whites approached the front of the sanctuary with slow deliberate steps. Then the reverent unfolding with white gloved hands, and finally the display of those glorious stars and stripes, held precisely in place to the mournful sound of taps. In the stillness that followed all that could be heard was the quiet snap of fabric against fabric as it was once again returned to its triangular shape.

It seemed as if time stood still as I watched, captivated by the profound meaning of that solemn moment. And I considered, yet in vain, all that this grand flag signifies for our great nation. And in her honor the thousands upon thousands who fell on battlefields around the world for the sake of our freedom.

From where I sat several rows from the front I had a straight line of vision to see the face of the officer as he kneeled in front of Walter's surviving wife, Carole. Someone next to her had their arm around her shoulder. As I since have learned, what he conveyed to her was this official message: "On behalf of the President of the United States and the Chief of Naval Operations, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's service to this Country and a grateful Navy."

O! say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Many mothers

I've been considering ideas for a Mother's Day blog all week and, out of no where the idea came to me tonight to honor my maternal heritage with these photos and names of grandmothers on my mother's side of the family. (I have photos of 4 grandmothers on my father's side but for the sake of space will save those for another post). I first went about the process of inserting all the photos and accompanying text first then began fishing for the introductory text. It wasn't until just a moment ago that it dawned on me, the idea for this post came to me when I was looking in the mirror. And what I see in the mirror is derived from genetic information passed down through all those generations.

Being able to associate names and even photos with so many of my grandparents (my family roots trace back 14 generations) is incredible enough but I also have more detailed information and stories about each one pictured here. Stories that make them come alive in my imagination. Stories that make me stand up straighter. Stories that compel me to live my life in such as way as to honor them.

I have even taken the time to list names of additional known grandmothers, just names but each name represents flesh and blood, joys, fears, hardships, beliefs, values and hope... hope against hope that their lives would count for something of great value beyond themselves.

My Mother
Elizabeth Ann (Hester) Phillips

Date of birth: September 20, 1923
Mother: Mary (Sullivan) Hester
Father: Webb Hester
Spouse: Vinton Phillips
Date of Marriage: July 15, 1946
Children: John Robert, Deborah Mary and Daniel Lee

Served in the armed forces in World War II. A woman devoted to her family, teaching her children the virtues of honesty, hard work and concern for others, while also finding joy in the simple pleasures of life.

My Mother's Mother

Mary (Sullivan) Hester

Born: September 26, 1891
Married: Webb Hester, December 23, 1915
Children: James, Finlay, Jane, Maybelle, Mary, Elizabeth, Robert
Died: January 27, 1931 at the age of forty years
Parents: Margaret Curtin and James Sullivan

A nurse by profession, a devoted wife and mother who left us too soon.

My Mother's Paternal Grandmother
Mabelle Lorena (Webb) Hester (with son, Webb Hester)

Date of birth: November 27, 1867 in Canton, Connecticut
Mother: Francis Hannah (Holmes) Webb
Father: Reverend Loren Webb
Spouse: Finlay Hester
Married: November 22, 1892
Children: Webb and Loren
Date of death: December 26, 1940 at the age of seventy-three years
Place of death: Huron County, Ohio

My Great-Great Grandmother

Mary (Finlay) Hester
Born: October 2, 1824 in Ireland

Married: Martin Mason Hester, May 21, 1850
Children: William J.., Catharine Eliza, Finlay

Died: July 5, 1906 at the age of eighty-two years
Parents: Margaret Beatty and John Finlay
A “helper indeed” for her husband of fifty-five years, and an active member of the Methodist Episcopal Church for sixty-eight years.

My Great Great Grandmother

Frances Hannah Holmes Webb
Born 1842, Danbury, Connecticut

Married: Loren Webb December 12, 1866
Children: Mabelle Lorena Webb and Clara Laurilla and unnamed son who lived only a few hours
Died: October 21, 1877
Parents: Mary E. Taylor and Steven Holmes





My Great Great Great Grandmother
Mary (Stough) Hester
Date of birth: February 15, 1789 in the Glades of West Virginia
Married: Martin Hester, November 30, 1809
Children: John, Eliza, Samuel, Matthias and Martin Mason Parents: Elizabeth (Hogmire) Stough and Reverend John Stough
Died: June 15, 1863 at the age of seventy four years, in Huron County, Ohio

“A pioneer woman, having commenced life in unbroken forest seven times.”


Additional Grandmothers in the Webb branch

• Mary E. Taylor, wife of Steven Holmes, parents of Frances Hannah Holmes (pictured above)
• Louisa Ellis, wife of Oliver Webb, parents of Loren Webb
• Lydia Parmalee, wife of David Webb, parents of Oliver Webb
• Deborah Palmer, wife of Darius Webb, parents of David Webb
• Ruth Crane, wife of Ebenezer Webb, parents of Darius Webb
• Hannah Ripley, wife of Samuel Webb (II), parents of Ebenezer Webb
• Mary Adams, wife of Samuel Webb (I), parents of Samuel Webb
• Hanna Scott, wife of Christopher Webb (II), parents of Samuel Webb
• Humility Wheaton, wife of Christopher Webb (I), parents of Christopher Webb
• Hannah Bradford, wife of Joshua Ripley, parents of Hannah Ripley
• Alice Richards, wife of William Bradford (II), parents of Hannah Bradford
• Allice Carpenter, wife of William Bradford (I), parents of William Bradford
• Welthian Loring, wife of Thomas Richards, parents of Alice Richards
• Elizabeth Hobart-Hubbard, wife of John Ripley, parents of Joshua Ripley

Additional Grandmothers in the Hester branch

• Mary Finlay, wife of Martin Mason Hester, parents of Finlay Hester
• Margaret Beattty, wife of John Finlay, parents of Mary Finlay (pictured above)
• Elizabeth Hogmire, wife of John Stough, parents of Mary Stough (pictured above)
• Charlotte Kessler, wife of Godfrey Stough, parents of John Stough
• Elizabeth Mason, wife of John Hester, Sr., parents of Martin Hester
• Christina Waite, wife of Martin Mason, parents of Elizabeth Mason
• Mary Margaret, wife of John Lawrence Hester, parents of John Hester, Sr.

May all who come behind us find us faithful.

Preserving the past, investing in the future

This week I have touched down in the world of professional archivists, people who preserve historical documents and artifacts for posterity. They work for museums, libraries and large organizations like universities and the national offices of church denominations. With thanks to my cousin Jon who is doing work for the National Archives I located this group's web site and signed up for their online discussion forum. I was looking for an efficient route towards developing some basic archival policies and procedures for The City Mission where I work.

One of my many roles at the Mission is to assist our contracted historian who is compiling a small book about our 100 years of service to Cleveland. (I locate documents and bits of information she needs to piece the puzzle together). Our organization has sent several boxes of materials to the Western Reserve Historical Society archives which we can rest assured are safely preserved. In the meantime, we continue to amass materials that will need to be archived in the future but we could benefit from having some guidelines in place now that will assure that important materials don't get lost or misplaced or mishandled in the shuffle of daily life in a busy organization. I posted a query on the discussion forum of the archivists late Friday afternoon and by Monday morning I had several helpful responses in my in-box, from archivists at places like Wheaton College, Dallas Theological Seminary and the national offices of the United Church of Christ which happens to be in Cleveland. I have a lunch date with someone who has offered to share some materials and pointers with me.

Meanwhile I have remained on their discussion forum so I get to hear their exchange of queries and answers. Most of them aren't of direct interest to me but this week someone decided to do an informal survey of the most unusual or strange items that had been donated to their institution. One person replied simply, "eye balls, with green irises and blue irises..." and that's all she wrote. Quickly others replied, were they real eye balls? Were they floating in liquid? She kept everyone in suspense awhile and finally replied they were glass eyeballs, marbles, from a collection of an optometrist. One person found in the basement of a university professor who had been at the Nuremberg trials, a brand new German pistol, still in the box with a swastika in it. It makes me curious as to what other interesting items might be tucked away in basements or attics around town. I guess the archivists all enjoyed the discussion as a diversion from their days filled primarily with handling important historical documents.

Thinking about all those folks who spend their days preserving the past, I was disappointed to hear this morning of a dismal future forecasted for Parma schools after having had a levy turned down for the third time in a row and by a very wide margin. The school system already has made significant cuts valued at millions of dollars. Meanwhile many other school levies in northeast Ohio passed. The new levy would have amounted to increased taxes of $168 a year (just $14 a month) for every $100,000 of property value. I wonder what we will sacrifice in the long run by not investing now in our greatest resource for the future, our children. As they say, you pay now or pay later and usually the "pay later" ends up being more costly.

Media hype

I read an article today about the decline in sales tax revenue which nationally fell about 6% in the last quarter of 2008. In Ohio sales tax revenue was down .7% compared to 2007, but adjusted for inflation that figures out to be about 4%.

Newsprint journalists write in the "inverted pyramid" format with the most important information in the first sentence or two with each sentence thereafter of decreasing importance. Presumably that's because most readers don't have the attention span or time to read the whole article. In the first sentence of this article the writer described consumer spending as "screeching to a halt." And in the same sentence the claim is made that governments are watching a major revenue source "dry up."

While there is cause for concern in declining sales tax revenue, the terms are exaggerated and perhaps intended to elicit response that keeps readers coming back for more. Then again, a lot of journalists are losing their jobs these days to the declining market for print media so maybe they themselves are writing out of fear. So much for objective journalism.

I'm thinking of the last few businesses where I shopped and it would be difficult to confirm a recession by the number of cars in the lot. On the upside of declining sales revenue, maybe that means people are saving more of their earnings, and getting better at living within their budget. That's a good thing.

Then there's the issue of swine flu. The U.S. Center for Disease Control reports that every year 36,000 people die from "flu-related causes." When was the last time you heard the annual flu season described as an "epidemic," but that's how this swine flu outbreak is being described. So far I have not heard of one death in the U.S. But just about every news web page has a photo of people wearing masks.

If you know where to look you can find a sane approach to this issue in learning to take better care of ourselves, specifically in supporting the incredible immune system that we come ready-made with. That's a subject for another time.

No child left inside

Never in my growing up years could I have imagined that it would literally take an act of Congress to get kids to re-connect with the natural world in a meaningful way. The legislation was introduced Apr 22 (Earth Day) by Senator Jack Reed and Congressman John Sarbanes. It's called the No Child Left Inside Act of 2009. The goal is to ensure that students have a "high quality" environmental education.

How about this for a summer lesson plan: unplug the TV, join the library's summer reading club, check out a book or two on something pertaining to the natural world, plunk down under the apple tree in the back yard, feel the cool ground and the ants crawling over your legs as you read. Keep checking out books at least until you've completed the required number of books for the reading program. Make sure to get a sticker to adhere to your certificate for each book you've read. (I distinctly remember one summer, each sticker I got was another segment of a caterpillar.)

Here's another: provided you've finished the school year with passing grades pitch a tent in the backyard and lay out there every night with a friend or sibling and after you're done telling stories to one another, listen to the crickets chirping, watch the magic of lightning bugs, and look up at the expanse of stars above, and wonder.

Here's another: help your Mom and Dad and grandparents with gardening and lawn care, and the "putting up" of vegetables and fruit for the winter. Enjoy the fruits of your labors. I remember visits to my Grandparents' farm with a garden alongside the house that extended from the road to the back of the house. Dinner consisted of corn and tomatoes and raspberries picked less than an hour before with a side of homemade biscuits (and raspberry jam) and topped off with fresh pie.

Here's another: Find some adoptive grandparents who have a farm and spend a week getting a glimpse of what life on a farm can be like. At Grandma and Grandpa Phillips' farm I remember drinking fresh milk, feeding the chickens, gathering eggs and walking through the troughs of a freshly plowed field to take a bottle of cold water to my Grandpa, with Brownie dog alongside.

Here's another: Go to the county fair every fall and make sure to visit the swine and cow barns then check out the prize-winning produce and flowers in the 4-H barn.

Here's another: Family trips every summer (some in a pop-up camper) to places like the Smokey Mountains, Mammoth Cave, Niagara Falls and the Wisconsin Dells.

Here's another: Figure out a way to go to "camp" every summer for at least one week. (I was at camp usually two weeks every summer for Girl Scouts, 4-H or church. I distinctly remember one week of primitive camping with the Girls Scouts, constructing our own latrine and lean-toos.)

Then there was the week-long canoe trip venture with the Girl Scouts my final year in high school. It took three of those days to traverse 90 miles of the AuSable River, bringing all our food and supplies with us in the canoes. We floated down the river for hours without seeing signs of humans (and especially no litter).

Here's one I don't recommend but it was a lesson: Get lost in a large national forest in the twilight hours and find your way out (Yes I did, I was high school age and had with me my younger brother).

It's no wonder then, that I took the "long way" to visit friends in North Carolina, traveling the Blue Ridge Parkway and then returned via the Shenandoah National Park byway. It's no wonder then, that on my way back from a car trip to Maine I bypassed the highway for a scenic excursion through the White Mountains in Vermont and New Hampshire (in October). It's no wonder that this past Saturday I took the Parkway route to get to a destination.

If nothing else, check out the book, Last Child in the Woods by Richard Louv:
http://www.childrenandnature.org/book/

And most of all don't ever get too old or too cynical too experience wonder.

As I go on in life, day by day,
I become more of a bewildered child;
I cannot get used to this world....
I could wish my days
to be bound each to each
by the same open-mouthed wonder.
-Robert Louis Stevenson

America, The Beautiful
O beautiful, for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America! God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood, from sea to shining sea.
- lyrics by Katherine Lee Bates

What am I doing?! It's time to sign off and go outside to play!

earth - the movie

Go see the movie at the theatre if at all possible. The breathtaking photography and amazing sound recordings are best on the big screen with surround sound. It will most certainly deepen your appreciation and admiration for the rich diversity, complexity and creativity of the only known planet to sustain life as we know it.

The tilt of the earth on its axis at 23 1/2 degrees is what results in our seasons and sets into motion billions of migrating creatures in search of water, food and suitable climates for raising their young. Three animal families play lead roles in the film, accompanied by 39 other species. Filming took place at over 200 locations and 64 countries, under the daring and dedicated work of 60 expert photographers.

Some of the most memorable scenes for me...

• the first "flight" of mandarin ducklings from the nest 30 feet up in a tree. Called by their mother from the ground below none of them hesitate to plunge into air. They land and sometimes bounce off the ground unhurt and immediately head for the nearest feeding ground
• traffic jam on the high seas, hundreds of dolphins in what appear to be synchronized leaps from the water
• a one-ton great-white shark hoisting its entire body into the air, teeth gleaming, clamped on a dolphin
• a pride of 30 hungry lions closing in on a herd of elephants at night (filmed with infrared film), the adult elephants forming a protective circle around their young, and the sound of the lions' roar all around.

Go to http://disney.go.com/disneynature/earth/ for lots of cool photos, footage and fascinating details.

Earth Day 2009

For Earth Day 2009, some things to consider:

How many trees are killed each year for junk mail?
http://privacycouncil.org/how-many-trees-does-your-junk-mail-kill/

To get your name off direct mail lists:
http://www.directmail.com/directory/mail_preference/

As a follow up to my previous post about litter (America's dirty laundry):
In 2008 Ohio road crews collected 7 million pounds (350,000 bags) of trash at a cost of $3.6 million:
http://www.dot.state.oh.us/districts/D12/Deputy%20Director/News/Pages/ODOTandRecordNumberofVolunteerspartnertopickuplitter“ClearAcrossOhio”.aspx

Here are some fun interactives about earth, provided by National Geographic:
http://channel.nationalgeographic.com/series/earth-the-biography#tab-interactive

Dirty laundry

I don't think I've ever used my blog as a venue for airing anything negative, like pet peeves, which by definition are minor annoyances. Complaining doesn't seem to accomplish much but we seem to get some sort of satisfaction out of it anyway. With all the significant issues our world faces today, why do we waste our energy getting worked up about things that are relatively insignificant? I found web sites with long lists of pet peeves like maps that aren't folded correctly, people who are noisy eaters, shopping carts with wheels that get hung up etc etc.

Litter is one of my pet peeves so I was pleased to come across a poem that speaks to the issue much better than I could. You'll find the poem at the link below on the April 9th Writer's Almanac, but first let me add a few cents worth of complaint...

Like those stupid plastic bags that the wind picks up and deposits high up on a tree branch. There's one decorating the tree by my office window and one stuck on the utility pole behind my house. And what's with cigarette butts? There must have been a hundred of them stuck in the metal grating on the sidewalk I traversed on my way to a meeting downtown. How disgusting.

"Keep America Beautiful" :
http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php?date=2009/04/09

Bestest

Congratulations goes to my youngest nephew Craig, first for completing his "Master of Science, Civil Engineering, with concentrations in Structural and Geotechnical Engineering" from South Dakota School of Mining and Technology.....and shortly thereafter landing a job with Stanley Consultants, an international engineering consulting firm headquartered in Muscatine, Iowa (about a half hour from Davenport). http://www.stanleyconsultants.com/

Now, excuse me while I brag a bit, but indeed all his hard work and smarts deserve some accolades.

Only another engineer can fully understand/appreciate all the technical qualifications described in his resume, but its plain to see he likes to be productive. In his college years he worked four summer internships with Kokosing Construction in the heavy industrial division. In between undergraduate and graduate school he spent a year volunteering with Habitat for Humanity/Americorps as a construction staff member for the Metro Jackson Habitat for Humanity, in the Hurricane Katrina rebuilding efforts. In his final summer before graduate school he worked for the city of Grand Haven creating a "GIS Geodatabase for public utilities," GIS = geographic information systems. For anyone who understands engineering qualifications here are all the letters behind his name: LEED AP, EIT, LSIT

In the few months between graduation and securing a job he finished a significant remodeling job at their home (partnering with his Dad), did more remodeling at a friend's house, dug a water line from the house to the garden (not good at judging distance but in my mind's eye its at least enough for a game of touch football), installed irrigation tubing in the garden, started some seedlings for several different vegetables all of which are enjoying a good start under a home-made green-house box, cut down a tree ready to fall (and prepared it for firewood) and finally (still in process) constructing a raised bed for raising blueberries. Whew! All that and keeping up a job search as well.

Word has it that his starting salary is more than his older brother, Brian who also has a Masters in civil engineering and has been working in the field awhile. So, stay tuned for another blog post about him, whose example, support and good-natured brotherly competition helped to pave the way. The summer that Brian was participating in the cross-country Habitat for Humanity Bike and Build trip, he challenged Craig to complete a one-day's leg of the trip, 100 miles and of course he met the challenge.

Now for the title of this blog. One time when Craig stopped at my parents' house and didn't find them home, he left a note and signed it "your bestest grandson." So the nickname has stuck, but as far as anyone in our family is concerned all three of my nephews are the "bestest."

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Here is Craig as a toddler looking out the front window to the wide expanse of fields beyond his front yard. Today he looks to a bright future.

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Congratulations, Craig!

Emblepo

The hours must have drug on that night in the courtyard outside the home of the high priest where Jesus had been taken after his arrest. Peter, one of the twelve, was there gathered by the fireside with the servants and guards, waiting to see what would happen. Just hours earlier he had vowed that he would follow Jesus to the death but now his heart was filled with fear and confusion. By day break when the rooster crowed he had three times denied that he even knew Jesus.

"But Peter said, “Man, I don’t know what you are talking about.” And immediately, while he was still speaking, the rooster crowed. At that moment the Lord turned and looked at Peter. Suddenly, the Lord’s words flashed through Peter’s mind: “Before the rooster crows tomorrow morning, you will deny three times that you even know me.” Luke 22: 60 NLT

Tucked away in a this centuries-old story is a treasure in the word "looked," translated emblepo in Greek. The same Greek word is used by John to describe how Jesus looked at him when they first met:

Then Andrew brought Simon to meet Jesus. Looking intently at Simon, Jesus said, “Your name is Simon, son of John—but you will be called Cephas” (which means “Peter”). John 1: 42 NLT. (Cephas is an Aramaic word and Peter a Greek word, and both mean “rock.” This had great significance in an age when people were named or re-named as a description of who they were or would become. )

From the day they first met until the dawning of that horrific day of crucifixion, Jesus always looked at Peter in the context of the "big picture." He knew that Peter would fail miserably, but He also knew that Peter would become the rock of the first century church. That morning as Jesus looked across the courtyard at Peter, it was with a loving, grace-filled gaze.

Even before he made the world, God loved us and chose us in Christ to be holy and without fault in his eyes..... So we praise God for the glorious grace he has poured out on us who belong to his dear Son. He is so rich in kindness and grace that he purchased our freedom with the blood of his Son and forgave our sins. Ephesians 4: 6-7 NLT.

There is freedom to be found in emblepo, that I am looked upon with grace in spite of my failures and more so, I am looked upon as a child of God who is being conformed to His image. (Romans 8:29).

But as any soldier will tell you, freedom isn't free, it comes with the highest price tag, the shedding of blood. "It is finished," Jesus said from the Cross, and that marked the turning point of all history. Millions have looked to the cross as the turning point, the center point in their own lives. And the invitation still stands.

Winter blooms

There's a light coating of snow covering lawns, enough to transform the neighborhood's assorted plastic Easter bunnies and eggs into rounded shapes of white. So perhaps now is as good a time as any to reflect back on a wintry visit to the Botanical Gardens with my brother and sister-in-law. It was the last week in December, but it was just this past week that I finished that roll of film and took it in for processing. Though we spent most of our time in the glass houses, we did stroll the grounds and amazingly found some flowering plants, I kid you not. These photos are for proof, rather than aesthetics. The first I presume to be pansies and the second some flowering cabbage.
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Here's my brother Bob and I enjoying the vibrancy and warmth of Costa Rica under glass:

Words, The Word

It just dawned on me that as of last Tuesday my blog is 1 year old. So I mark this anniversary with some thoughts from some favorite writers...

Frederick Beuchner on words (from his book, Beyond Words, 2004)
Something that lay hidden in the heart is irrevocably released through speech into time, is given substance and tossed like a stone into the pool of history...

God never seems to get weary of trying to get across to us. Word after word, God tries in search of the right word. When the creation itself doesn't seem to say it right....God tries flesh and blood....

The apostle John says of Jesus in the opening words of his book:
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning......He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God— children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband's will, but born of God.

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. (John 1: 1-2, 10-14 NIV).

Michael Card, one verse of his song, Final Word
You and me we use so very many clumsy words.
The noise of what we often say is not worth being heard.
When the Father’s Wisdom wanted to communicate His love,
He spoke it in one final perfect Word.

Letters, traces of life

Every now and then in the rush of daily activity, my forward momentum is pleasantly interrupted with an invitation to travel in my thoughts back to another time and place. After spending 9 hours in a human services conference in the bowels of the Cleveland Convention Center Friday I detoured back to the parking lot via City Hall.

There on the back wall of the City Hall rotunda was my invitation, portraits of famous Clevelanders. I recognized many of the names but one in particular caught my attention. Rebecca Rouse, and the inscription below the portrait indicated she had organized the Soldiers' Aid Society during the Civil War. That portrait was as a door to walk through and that evening I started the journey, finding an entry in the online Encyclopedia of Cleveland: http://ech.case.edu/ech-cgi/article.pl?id=RRC1

But my primary interest in this historical character had more to do with linking her story to that of many in my family tree who were profoundly impacted by the Civil War. I thought first of my great-great Aunt, Eliza Savage, sister to my great-great grandfather Martin M. Hester. I thought of her because in our family collection we have a great many letters, perhaps 50 that she wrote to her brother during the Civil War, with three sons in the front lines of battle. We have transcribed about a dozen thinking that would be a good sample, but who knows what thread of thought lies buried within those thin lines of faded ink, lines that get smaller and closer together near the end of the page when there is more to tell than there is room to write and paper is scarce and ink is home-made.

Take a quick view back to March 5th, 1864 with this excerpt....

...we received a letter from James last evening, he left here Friday morning and reached Nashville Sunday evening about 6 o'clock.... they would start the next morning for Chatanooga. Watson has enlisted in the 1st Ohio Battery. We will be left quite lonely. Elisha has some thoughts of selling out [the farm] and renting a house in Berea for the present. He cannot do much on the farm alone, help is scarce and high....

Could she have imagined that these words would be read nearly 150 years later.... Could she have imagined the value they are to us now in capturing our imagination for the otherwise unimaginable tragedy of Civil War? And can we imagine how our own written words will be read in years to come...?

The essence of hope

The snow shovel has been idle for quite some time now and it looks like I probably won't need to purchase any more rock salt this season. The commute to and from work these last couple weeks has been a breeze, not having to contend with icy roads. On my neighborhood walk Thursday night people were lingering outside, chatting with neighbors and two boys had struck up a basketball game in their driveway. A guy just down the street had hauled out the hose and was washing a layer of salt from his car. The smell of Murphy's soap in my house is evident that the urge for spring cleaning overtook me today.

Signs for lenten fish frys have been popping up all over town. Department store racks are flush with fresh spring colors and the clearance racks of winter duds are pretty well picked over. Tax preparation offices are lit up at night and people are talking about plans for their refunds.

It's only one week into March but it's warm enough today to have the windows open to get some fresh air circulating through the house. For the first time in many months today I heard the sound of the male cardinal's song, which seems all the more delightful after its long absence.

But the calendar says it's still winter and no one is putting away their snow shovels or windshield scrapers. The tilt of the earth on its axis and its yearly journey around the sun make it a certainty that spring will arrive in due time. But that's just the science of it. The certainty of spring following winter is the essence of hope. And hope has the power to sustain life even in the darkest, wintry seasons of our lives.

Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see. Hebrews 11: 1 NLT
http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?book_id=65&chapter=11&version=51

Weavers' handshake

Of course one expects to see art displayed on the walls of art galleries but at the opening reception of a new exhibit at Heights Arts Friday night, virtually every one of the dozen artists were wearing a beautifully handcrafted item, a work of art.... whether a vest, jacket, scarf, jewelry or purse. But of course, since all the artists use textiles in their art work.

I was talking with one of the artists and admiring her hand-woven jacket. It had a wonderful soft sheen that invited to be touched, so I did. She called that touch, the "weavers' handshake," and its that feel of texture that must draw these artists into their work.

I distinctly recall that when I was first learning digital imaging and desktop design at Cuyahoga Community College I just wanted to be able to reach into the computer monitor and manipulate the "objects" with my hands. I am much more proficient with technology now, particularly since I spend so much time on the computer for my work, but I still enjoy the "hands-on" experiences, particularly with interesting textures. That's a big part of the reason I enjoy knitting and exploring the use of interesting yarns.

What I saw was an exhibit of the Textile Arts Alliance which is associated with Cleveland Museum of Art. For an overview of their programs: http://www.taacleveland.org/program.html. For this particular exhibit each of the artists in this organization were offered the opportunity to select a textile object from the museum's collection of items no longer being used for exhibits. They either used that item for inspiration for creating their own piece or incorporated all or part of the original piece in their own work. The exhibit is on until April 4th. For more info: http://www.heightsarts.org/

One artist "Sigrid", had with her a notebook showing the steps she took in designing/creating her piece. She first studied the textile artifact from the museum under 40x magnification. She told me that in studying this 18th century artifact that she learned something new about weaving that she had not come across in her 32 years of weaving. That's saying something about the 18th century artist since Sigrid is widely known for her expertise: www.artsstudio.org/magic.htm.

There's still time this Sunday evening for a little knitting, accompanied by a audio book, a fiction with a central theme of quiltmaking. And that's a subject for another time.

Art appreciation

A group of us from church visited the Cleveland Museum of Art this afternoon which has been undergoing significant renovation for a couple of years now and it won't be completed until 2012. The sections of the museum that are now open include exhibits of European, Dutch, French and American art from the 17th up to the 20th centuries, and the armor court, displaying European Arms and Armor from 1400-1700. Here is a link to online photographs of some of the art we saw today. http://www.clemusart.com/explore/viewCMACollections.asp?cid=P113

One member of our group has significant visual impairments. Pastor Doug and some of the rest of us made an attempt to describe what we were seeing. But of course, words can never do justice for all that the perceptive eye sees....the play of light and shadow in a painting, the artist's skill at rendering detail, shades of color, perspective, emotion, meaning and all the rest.

As a photographer I am particularly sensitive to the play of light and other visual elements such as composition, color and contrast. Photography has been described as "painting with light", noticing the quality and direction of the light and how it is affecting the subject to be photographed, and then working with the light for the most favorable outcome. Thus, I consider myself a visual artist.

"Because the eye loves novelty and can get used to almost any scene, even one of horror, much of life can drift into the vague background of our attention...."* The work of artists is in part, to call our attention to things that might otherwise escape our notice.

In spite of my visual sensitivity, gazing at great works of art today alongside someone who cannot see has renewed and heightened my appreciation for art and beauty and the wonder of vision. And for all those who feel the same, and have given generously so that many thousands can visit the museum each year without charge.

Take a look at this painting and imagine describing it to someone who cannot see and never has: http://www.clevelandart.org/Explore/work.asp?searchText=noah&recNo=1&tab=2&display=

* Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of the Senses.

There is more

"She had a farm in Wisconsin..." that's the line I think of in remembrance of my dear friend Joan who passed away several years ago on Christmas day, losing a well-fought battle with cancer. The line is derived from the opening phrase in the book and movie, Out of Africa, "I had a farm in Africa at the foot of the Ngong Hills...". (The book was written by Karen Dinesen.)

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Yesterday I came across a note from Joan and so today my thoughts are dwelling on the wonderful memories of the times we spent together.

Among her many other skills and talents, Joan was well versed in agriculture and had studied the subject at the Wooster extension of Ohio State University. She was beginning to live her dream of raising grass-fed beef in a beautiful tract of land surrounded by gentle hills. She had a good understanding of horses, too and was going to use draft horses, Percherons, in the work of the farm. A distinctive feature of this place was how dark it was at night once all the house lights were turned out. There was only one artificial light visible in the far distance.

She and I and another friend Karen met at a time when we were all considering some career changes. We were attending some free career workshops hosted by the library and at the end of the last one I said, "Let's go for coffee" and that started a long series of get togethers even though our paths and locations diverged quite a bit over the coming years.

Joan (seated) and Karen pose as we wait to be seated in a restaurant.

And now a song comes to mind in honor of all the cherished memories, by Andrew Peterson entitled "More". Find out more about More and much more at http://www.andrew-peterson.com/

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An excerpt:
This is not the end here at this grave
This is just a hole that someone made
Every hole was made to fill
And every heart can feel it still
Our nature hates a vacuum

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There is not hardest part of all
This is just the seed that has to fall
All our lives we till the ground
Until we lay our sorrows down
and watch the sky for rain

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Chorus:
There is more
More than all this pain
More than all the falling down
and getting up again

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There is more
More than we can see
From our tiny vantage point
in this vast eternity
There is more

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Jesus replied, "Now the time has come for the Son of Man to enter into his glory. I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels—a plentiful harvest of new lives." John 12:23-24 NLT

Hibernation

For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven....a time to be quiet and a time to speak.... (Ecclesiastes 3: 1 and7b NLT).

My blogging mood has been in hibernation, now for seven weeks. There is a time and season for everything. But in the frozen world of winter the barren trees wait. The seeds of ideas that would ordinarily germinate and surface during my walks in the woods, they all have been waiting, too.

It reminds me of the centuries-old practice of letting farmland lie fallow from time to time. It helps to restore nurtients to the soil and reduces the buildup of pathogens and pests that occur when the land is continually planted with the same crop. Scriptural references to this practice call it a sabbath rest: "For six years you may plant your fields and prune your vineyards and harvest your crops, but during the seventh year the land must have a Sabbath year of complete rest. It is the Lord’s Sabbath...." (Leviticus 25: 3-4 NLT). A good idea since the Israelite farmers could not run to the store for pesticides to ward off pathogens and pests. Today the practice of crop rotation is implemented for the same reasons.

And the first day of spring is exactly one month from today.

"Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end."

Ecclesiastes 3: 11 NLT