I have always been astonished by people (especially teachers and thinkers) who seemingly give no credit for what comes before them in thought. It as if they have discovered something, and that something does not have antecedents. Or if the documents exist, they needn't be recognized. There is something so arrogant about this in a way, and so simplistic and sad in another. It is probably a hallmark of our age when there is so much information around about everything; so why not simplify and not study or call attention to where thought has been, we cannot keep up with what is?
A recent book on cosmology by Stephen Hawking and Leonard Mlodinow, "The Grand Design," traces some of the philosophic problems inherited by earlier thinkers by describing Aristotle's achievements and problems, and how these have affected thinkers for over 2,000 years. "Aristotle, however, did not see problems in measurement and calculation as impediments to developing a physics that could produce quantative predictions. Rather, he saw no need to make them. Instead, Aristotle built his physics upon principles that appealed to him intellectually. He suppressed facts he found unappealing and focused his efforts on the reasons things happen, with relatively little energy invested in detailing exactly what was happening. Aristotle did adjust his conclusions when their blatant disagreement with observation could not be ignored. But those adjustments were often ad hoc explanations that did little more than paste over the contradiction." It is sobering to think that Aristotle's thought was a powerful influence on St. Thomas Aquinas and thus influenced millions of thinkers for centuries thereafter.
Today we have powerful conservative thinkers weighing in on climate change/global warming for ideological/philosophical reasons. It is as if their intelligence comes out of a flatland cosmology, where "problems in measurement and calculation as impediments" to understanding the causes, affects and solutions of weather phenonoma are simply outweighed by the importance they give to their descriptions and conclusions. These are people who like Aristotle have thoughts which undoubtedly appeal to them intellectually, and will search high and low for corrobative evidence to back up this flatland landscape. How they imagine solutions to the problems which not only surround them, but undoubtedly buffet them as well, is beyond me. Meanwhile mother earth seems to be racheting up the evidence as fast as these thinkers deny the last of it. Hold on to your saddles, ladies and gentlemen, push back is the thought of the day for these folks.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
"Git 'er done, son"
Why write about certain things, and thus not others? And why should I imagine that this or that story or subject will appeal to anyone? Well, I have to keep asking the questions, it feels good to know that people do read what is written here. Community is extremely important to me, and the people of my community are critical. Some are more interesting than others, and some that have captured my interest are hardly people who are generally attractive to others, for example a long haul truck driver.
Tom would show up in the garage of a neighbor, they enjoyed drinking and telling stories; the neighbor sometimes drove truck for the other man, and a times helped him with mechanical problems. Both had considerable experience in trucking, all weather, long distances, lots of stories, of course. But the story which really got a hold of me was the trip that Tom took as a passenger with his trucker father, Don, which included many miles on the West Coast.
It was late one night, the day had been long in miles and Don was extremely tired. It seemed they would have to stop, but there were many miles to go. Don looked over at his young teenage son and made a decision, it was time for him to take the wheel. We are talking about a truck that would be considered an antique by now, one which not only had eighteen gears (and, of course, no automatic transmission), and took considerable strength to steer, not to mention shift. "Git 'er done, son, was the advice as he stopped the truck and turned the wheel over to Tom.
Don's been retired for awhile, and my desire is to talk with him sometime about that night when Tom took over for him continues. His was a considerable act of faith, to say the least. And presumably Tom did not miss a shift or disappoint his Father. With today's laws, trucking regulations, insurance restrictions, one wonders if Tom might turn the wheel and gear shift over to his son, if he had one (?). Perhaps we will have "Git 'er done, son" II one of these days.
Tom would show up in the garage of a neighbor, they enjoyed drinking and telling stories; the neighbor sometimes drove truck for the other man, and a times helped him with mechanical problems. Both had considerable experience in trucking, all weather, long distances, lots of stories, of course. But the story which really got a hold of me was the trip that Tom took as a passenger with his trucker father, Don, which included many miles on the West Coast.
It was late one night, the day had been long in miles and Don was extremely tired. It seemed they would have to stop, but there were many miles to go. Don looked over at his young teenage son and made a decision, it was time for him to take the wheel. We are talking about a truck that would be considered an antique by now, one which not only had eighteen gears (and, of course, no automatic transmission), and took considerable strength to steer, not to mention shift. "Git 'er done, son, was the advice as he stopped the truck and turned the wheel over to Tom.
Don's been retired for awhile, and my desire is to talk with him sometime about that night when Tom took over for him continues. His was a considerable act of faith, to say the least. And presumably Tom did not miss a shift or disappoint his Father. With today's laws, trucking regulations, insurance restrictions, one wonders if Tom might turn the wheel and gear shift over to his son, if he had one (?). Perhaps we will have "Git 'er done, son" II one of these days.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Ichiban aka Itchy
Ichiban was born in Brooklyn, N,Y., found on the street as a puppy (covered with fleas and mange) and named Itchy. Eventually she was brought to Minnesota and later (perhaps because of an extreme aversion to men in uniform?) bit a mailman in St. Paul. Quarantined and then given "marching orders" she ended up on our farm in Otter Creek, Wisconsin. After a very brief training period this amazing canine began a distinguished career as a farm dog, and was given a new "handle," Ichiban.
So not only was she beautiful and obedient, able to take Wisconsin winters and other seasons in her stride, but she patrolled a central piece of the property, treed bears and raccoons, killed muskrats, and barked at strangers and other unwanted aliens. She had her favorites among the people who visited, and also continued to show her dislike for uniformed males, especially those she thought to be excessively macho. She got along well with farm cats, but had a tendency to chase and kill fowls early in her tenure.
In her aging process she contracted a disease called Cushing's. which ultimately took a big toll on her activities, work and rounds.
Then tumors spread through her body and ultimately she was brought down by the failure of her lungs, She remained noble and sweet to the end of her life, and we miss her terribly in the week without her presence. To the very end she enjoyed rolling in the snow, and walking what she could of her territory. One of my lasting memories is of her standing on the edge of the road looking intently for a potential intruder. Ichiban, #1.
So not only was she beautiful and obedient, able to take Wisconsin winters and other seasons in her stride, but she patrolled a central piece of the property, treed bears and raccoons, killed muskrats, and barked at strangers and other unwanted aliens. She had her favorites among the people who visited, and also continued to show her dislike for uniformed males, especially those she thought to be excessively macho. She got along well with farm cats, but had a tendency to chase and kill fowls early in her tenure.
In her aging process she contracted a disease called Cushing's. which ultimately took a big toll on her activities, work and rounds.
Then tumors spread through her body and ultimately she was brought down by the failure of her lungs, She remained noble and sweet to the end of her life, and we miss her terribly in the week without her presence. To the very end she enjoyed rolling in the snow, and walking what she could of her territory. One of my lasting memories is of her standing on the edge of the road looking intently for a potential intruder. Ichiban, #1.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Sammy White and Don Quixote
Sammy and I served on the deck force on a ship in the Korean War. He has been doubled crossed, having been promised to go to printer's school and then be assigned to a printer's job by the recruiter; and then was sent to the ship right out of boot camp. Sammy had worked for the printing firm that printed the "National Geographic" in Washington, D.C. and I felt that he expected better treatment for his desire to be a printer. (I should say that these double crosses happened to white folks too, so Sammy was not unique in this regard). But, the added problem was that our division officer was a white southerner, very self conscious in a job he was not qualitied for (somewhat common in the war, especially for officers who came out of the NROTC).
So when Sammy asked that he be given some justice, the officer probably considered his story to be some kind of poppycock, and made life hard for him. Enter Don Quixote, me. I have carved out a hobby of helping fellow shipmate with problems, especially correspondence, since most of them did not know how to write letters. I knew a man who worked in the personnel office and asked him to check Sammy's record. Bingo, there it was, Sammy was right. So we started a campaign and things got tougher for both of us. Well, the officer's incompetence got him transferred off the ship and his replacement stepped up to the plate for Sammy. He was transferred to a shore station (Norfolk, I think), and hopefully on to printer's school.
I thought of Sammy during the Martin Luther King talks broadcast by Amy Goodman on "Democracy Now," especially for very eloquent one from Memphis (given just before he died). Our time at sea and in the Navy predated these speeches by over ten years, but the things that were playing out in Memphis were a version of what was happening to Sammy, and perhaps what had encouraged him to enlist in the Navy in the first place. It would be fascinating to find out what happened to him after all these years. Recently a shipmate on the same ship found me through the Internet and now we have corresponded and even gotten together since then. Perhaps I'll try it with Sammy. Printing and the printing press has gone through several revolutions since the 50s, Sammy may have had to retire rather than face the latest one.
So when Sammy asked that he be given some justice, the officer probably considered his story to be some kind of poppycock, and made life hard for him. Enter Don Quixote, me. I have carved out a hobby of helping fellow shipmate with problems, especially correspondence, since most of them did not know how to write letters. I knew a man who worked in the personnel office and asked him to check Sammy's record. Bingo, there it was, Sammy was right. So we started a campaign and things got tougher for both of us. Well, the officer's incompetence got him transferred off the ship and his replacement stepped up to the plate for Sammy. He was transferred to a shore station (Norfolk, I think), and hopefully on to printer's school.
I thought of Sammy during the Martin Luther King talks broadcast by Amy Goodman on "Democracy Now," especially for very eloquent one from Memphis (given just before he died). Our time at sea and in the Navy predated these speeches by over ten years, but the things that were playing out in Memphis were a version of what was happening to Sammy, and perhaps what had encouraged him to enlist in the Navy in the first place. It would be fascinating to find out what happened to him after all these years. Recently a shipmate on the same ship found me through the Internet and now we have corresponded and even gotten together since then. Perhaps I'll try it with Sammy. Printing and the printing press has gone through several revolutions since the 50s, Sammy may have had to retire rather than face the latest one.
Monday, January 17, 2011
History Lessons & Martin Luther King
Some time ago an acquaintance responding to a speech by Martin Luther King remarked "that he wasn't going to take the history of some educated nigger as my history." It seems that this man's history of these United States didn't start with Columbus staggering into the West Indies, but in New England, with white people. He considered the Native Americans to be bit players to help the Europeans get started here, pull off the first Thanksgiving holiday, etc. The fact to him that the French and British continued to run things in the South until there was some turn around due to northern influence did not help him understand the more complex undercurrents well known to Dr. King.
But what really irked him about this astute, Dr. & Minister, was his mixing in of biblical stories and insights, for example the Jericho Road story. He wanted history his way, as many of us do, and his was a long way off from the man of the cloth who also knew not only American history well, but world history too, and could add street language and stories to the mix. Whew. & then there might be references to Greek & Roman philosophers, history and civilizations, New & Old Testaments, imagine?
Well, I've long since parted ways from this man, and I wish him well with his possible history lessons since. Mine have been simply unbelievable, and I am hard pressed to know what lessons may still be in store at 79 years old. The Internet/Google/Wikipedia are huge resources to check up on things, to get another "slant" on the so-called realities of the past. And then there are the un-believable array of resources seemingly coming from every direction. History overload.
Dr. King's life and accomplishments have passed into history, of course; and now with a national holiday devoted to him, and everything from essay contests to new research on his life and times the expansion of knowledge seems to invite both admirers and detractors with endless studies just around the life and accomplishments of this powerful man alone. How can one feel competent in a field of any kind today, especially in history?
But what really irked him about this astute, Dr. & Minister, was his mixing in of biblical stories and insights, for example the Jericho Road story. He wanted history his way, as many of us do, and his was a long way off from the man of the cloth who also knew not only American history well, but world history too, and could add street language and stories to the mix. Whew. & then there might be references to Greek & Roman philosophers, history and civilizations, New & Old Testaments, imagine?
Well, I've long since parted ways from this man, and I wish him well with his possible history lessons since. Mine have been simply unbelievable, and I am hard pressed to know what lessons may still be in store at 79 years old. The Internet/Google/Wikipedia are huge resources to check up on things, to get another "slant" on the so-called realities of the past. And then there are the un-believable array of resources seemingly coming from every direction. History overload.
Dr. King's life and accomplishments have passed into history, of course; and now with a national holiday devoted to him, and everything from essay contests to new research on his life and times the expansion of knowledge seems to invite both admirers and detractors with endless studies just around the life and accomplishments of this powerful man alone. How can one feel competent in a field of any kind today, especially in history?
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Mrs. Bergman
In the last two years a new business has been established South on Highway 25, Season's Harvest, a commercial greenhouse outfit, which has expanded several times in modular fashion. An article in the local paper gave the name Bergman to this enterprise, and a friend in the gardening business said that "Yes, there were Bergmans in the plant and greenhouse business all over the place" Perhaps this was the latest incarnation of this.
Well, I thought back to Mrs. Bergman, who ran a greenhouse/plant operation on Highway 36 in Roseville (?), Minnesota. I was travelling 36 to a woman friend's place at the time, helping her to develop her side garden. Plants were needed and this place was handy to say the least. When I first saw her she appeared to be an ancient one, wizened somewhat, her wrinkled skin very dark with the sun, white hair pulled back in a kind of bun, with a bandanna. Her helpers addresses her as Mrs. Bergman, and I soon found myself calling her that too.
I let her know that I was in the gardening and landscape business, had been gardening since I was a child, on and off, and displayed a modest knowledge of her plant stock and let her know what I was looking for. She had quite a few plant flats that were somewhat bedraggled (mostly a matter of keeping up with the watering), and some were marked down as bargains. The interesting thing was that she either refused to listen and remember what I shared with her, or she just wanted me to know that she was going to "educate" me regardless of what I knew or thought I knew.
I've been there before, I'm sure you have as well. But Mrs. Bergman made it different somehow. Hers was a kind of ancient feminist stance, not only applied to her help, but to me, and presumably other male customers as well .. perhaps with women customers too, I don't know (I wish I could have observed her with other women). She was an authority, and part of her stick
was to instruct you on what she knew, regardless of what you might know. She got away with it with her style, she "laid it" & you were expected to go along.
So, I called the Mr. Bergman of Season's Harvest and asked if this venerable lady might be one of his family members; or, if not did he know her, know if she was still alive. No answer, yet. But I'm going to call again one of these days. Off season, the man may be in another state, perhaps a "snow bird," I don't know. So what (?), as Andy Warhol would have asked. Well, this aged woman was of interest, from another world in a sense, and if she is around my guess is that people are still addressing her as Mrs. Bergman.
Well, I thought back to Mrs. Bergman, who ran a greenhouse/plant operation on Highway 36 in Roseville (?), Minnesota. I was travelling 36 to a woman friend's place at the time, helping her to develop her side garden. Plants were needed and this place was handy to say the least. When I first saw her she appeared to be an ancient one, wizened somewhat, her wrinkled skin very dark with the sun, white hair pulled back in a kind of bun, with a bandanna. Her helpers addresses her as Mrs. Bergman, and I soon found myself calling her that too.
I let her know that I was in the gardening and landscape business, had been gardening since I was a child, on and off, and displayed a modest knowledge of her plant stock and let her know what I was looking for. She had quite a few plant flats that were somewhat bedraggled (mostly a matter of keeping up with the watering), and some were marked down as bargains. The interesting thing was that she either refused to listen and remember what I shared with her, or she just wanted me to know that she was going to "educate" me regardless of what I knew or thought I knew.
I've been there before, I'm sure you have as well. But Mrs. Bergman made it different somehow. Hers was a kind of ancient feminist stance, not only applied to her help, but to me, and presumably other male customers as well .. perhaps with women customers too, I don't know (I wish I could have observed her with other women). She was an authority, and part of her stick
was to instruct you on what she knew, regardless of what you might know. She got away with it with her style, she "laid it" & you were expected to go along.
So, I called the Mr. Bergman of Season's Harvest and asked if this venerable lady might be one of his family members; or, if not did he know her, know if she was still alive. No answer, yet. But I'm going to call again one of these days. Off season, the man may be in another state, perhaps a "snow bird," I don't know. So what (?), as Andy Warhol would have asked. Well, this aged woman was of interest, from another world in a sense, and if she is around my guess is that people are still addressing her as Mrs. Bergman.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Get BIG or get out
A recent story in the neighborhood concerns a farmer who bought farms and more farms, cows and more cows, and then had a bad fall off (I hear) his tractor. He seemed to be following the dictum (who said it originally, back in the Eisenhower days, not sure?) about the wisdom of volume or else. Another local farmer increased his milking herd to the point that he not only had to go with Spanish speaking help, but to run into problems with his manure lagoon and (perhaps) poison the waters around him, including ours.
We moved and downscaled drastically, in part because of my age ... and in part because of the water situation. I'm glad we did, although it was hard. We lost some money and lost seven or eight years of hard work and planning. Now my wife, Joni, has to go to school and take on debt to get a nursing degree. This version of "Small is Beautiful" is just a part of the huge trend of working off the farm because of farm size, in part, but also because of the so-called "economy" (?). This is not a new trend, it has been going on for sometime, and is much more complex than I can describe.
Small is beautiful, and we are looking for ways to make it work; for ourselves, our neighbors and supporters. Cooperation with other small farms is critical, and difficult. Farm people tend to be loners, individualists, and some of the people who have been hired to try and make "local" growing, marketing, selling and delivering are learning as they go, as they try and learn to help us. It will be necessary to get on the phone again, try for meetings this winter and spring before the next "season" consumes us again.
Vamos a ver.
We moved and downscaled drastically, in part because of my age ... and in part because of the water situation. I'm glad we did, although it was hard. We lost some money and lost seven or eight years of hard work and planning. Now my wife, Joni, has to go to school and take on debt to get a nursing degree. This version of "Small is Beautiful" is just a part of the huge trend of working off the farm because of farm size, in part, but also because of the so-called "economy" (?). This is not a new trend, it has been going on for sometime, and is much more complex than I can describe.
Small is beautiful, and we are looking for ways to make it work; for ourselves, our neighbors and supporters. Cooperation with other small farms is critical, and difficult. Farm people tend to be loners, individualists, and some of the people who have been hired to try and make "local" growing, marketing, selling and delivering are learning as they go, as they try and learn to help us. It will be necessary to get on the phone again, try for meetings this winter and spring before the next "season" consumes us again.
Vamos a ver.
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