Category: MUSINGS

Beautiful architecture of Fulda cathedral

Along with the protective medieval walls that surrounded homes and towns of Germany, we found elements of Christianity everywhere we went. I have great affection for the long and complicated history of this religion, and it was a fascinating experience to view some very old artifacts of Christianity close up.

As in Italy, there was a stunning array of statues as well as representations of the crucifix everywhere we went.

Shadowed crucifix

This one appeared in the small cemetery in Bad Neustadt an der Saale. Unlike so many neatly-mowed cemeteries in America, this beautiful little cemetery featured tiny, unique garden plots on each grave site. Many had small glass-covered candles sitting among the plants, and every single one looked like it received regular, loving care from family members:

Beautiful garden graves in Bad Neustadt cemetery

One day we drove up to Fulda to see the beautiful cathedral. While the Fulda monastery originated in the 8th century, the cathedral was built in 1704 and was modeled after St. Peter’s in Rome.

Brooding magnificence of Fulda cathedral

I expected a grand interior, but I was pleasantly surprised at the lovely pale shades of white and pastel colors that graced the inside of the cathedral. It was a welcome and refreshing change from the bold colors and gold ornamentation that make so many churches hurt the eyes with their overwhelming magnificence. The interior of Fulda cathedral was soft and welcoming.

Reaching for glory: interior of Fulda cathedral dome

Down in the basement of the cathedral, the tomb of patron Saint Boniface appears ready to open any moment. Martyred by some grumpy Frisians in the 8th century who were unhappy about his destruction of their pagan shrines, Boniface’s body now rests in this beautifully-carved marble tomb. (As for the Frisians, they were unfortunately subjected to the hearty forced-conversion efforts of Karl der Grosse/Charlemagne after Boniface’s death.)

Tomb of St. Boniface: restless Archbishop ready to rise

There were many lovely representations of Mary both in the cathedral and across the countryside, as well as some dramatic scenes of the Passion of Christ. Some representations of the Holy Family and saints were beautifully lifelike, and some (below) were more primitive and dour, but all were quite beautiful.

Grim St. Killian guards walkway to Kreuzberg monastery

While in cities like Fulda there were plenty of wealthy patrons to support religious establishments, out in the country monks often developed their own ways to earn a living while supporting the spiritual life of rural communities. The Kreuzberg monastery is an excellent example of this rural lifestyle. Hidden atop one of the Rhön mountains in southern Germany (and less than an hour from Bad Neustadt), the monastery’s current buildings have sheltered monks and their visitors since around the time the Fulda Dom was built (very early 18th century). The monks made fantastic brown beer and delicious cheese there - - and they still do, though now with the help of lay folk.

We spent one afternoon visiting the old monastery at Kreuzberg high up on the lonely mountain. There were several cozy dining rooms filled to the brim with hikers and cyclers merrily sharing steins of beer and large plates brimming over with delicate grey Bockwurst, rye bread, slabs of cheese, and the best juniper-berry-dotted kraut I have ever had (except Soupski’s). After a half litre of beer, I grew to have enormous respect for the cyclers who pedaled all the way up the mountain - - and pedaled back down again after downing a litre (or more) of this potent brew.

Metzgerei: sacred temple of meat

All that touring was definitely hunger-inducing work, and of course there were two places I searched out in every town: the Bäckerei and the Metzgerei. With plenty of fresh pastry in the morning and a paper-wrapped selection of fresh sausage and cheese, I am invincible.

Or maybe I am just a pleasure-seeking heathen.

Naughty Pan sits in ivy-covered grotto outside Bad Neustadt an der Saale

Whether the motivation is to nourish the body to support the soul or to voluptuously enjoy earthly pleasures, the food in Germany was enough to satisfy. We had some delicious lunches of thin Wieners with hearty meat-dotted potato salad - -

A perfect lunch - Es schmeckt sehr gut!

- - and amazing selections of meats:

Beautiful display of local Wurst

Dinners were equally hearty, and we enjoyed seasonal, regional specialties like pan-seared trout - -

Delicious fresh Forelle (trout)

- - and thick venison stew on buttery beds of spatzle. Seasonal pears filled with tart berries provided the perfect foil for the meat.

Hearty Hirsch (venison) ragout and the local version of Spatzle (buttery egg noodles)

Pfifferlinge (Chanterelle mushrooms) were also in season, and I was lucky enough to enjoy a whole dish of them with my venison one lovely evening. Their delicate, earthy taste was out of this world, and as with all mushrooms they really are very best when they are freshly-picked. There was so much to choose from that the local chickens escaped my plate, but not my notice. Many of the hens I saw in the villages appeared to be some European relative of a Leghorn-Red cross:

Village chickens

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The history of the Christian Church is an interesting and complex intertwining of religion, spirituality, politics, violence, and the humbleness of daily life. Standing in a small medieval German village is like viewing a microcosm of this greater history: in the center of town is the church; down the street (or UP the street, depending on the personal power of the family) is the castle home of the local lord; fanning out for several blocks in each direction are streets for craftsmen and business folk, and if times were tough a high wall surrounded all and hopefully kept the enemy at bay. Bad Neustadt was an excellent example of this way of life, and across the country the tiny town of Beilstein was another . . .

Beilstein view of the hilltop church through old glass

To be continued . . .

Palanquin Bearers

Lightly, O lightly we bear her along,
She sways like a flower in the wind of our song;
She skims like a bird on the foam of a stream,
She floats like a laugh from the lips of a dream.
Gaily, O gaily we glide and we sing,
We bear her along like a pearl on a string.

Softly, O softly we bear her along,
She hangs like a star in the dew of our song;
She springs like a beam on the brow of the tide,
She falls like a tear from the eyes of a bride.
Lightly, O lightly we glide and we sing,
We bear her along like a pearl on a string.

- Sarojini Naidu

Happy, happy birthday to the windblown California princess . . .

Misty dreamscape of the Monterey, California coastline

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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.

O beautiful, for pilgrim feet
Whose stern, impassioned stress
A thoroughfare for freedom beat
Across the wilderness!
America! America! God mend thine ev’ry flaw;
Confirm thy soul in self control, thy liberty in law!

O beautiful, for heroes proved
In liberating strife,
Who more than self their country loved
And mercy more than life!
America! America! May God thy gold refine,
Till all success be nobleness, and ev’ry gain divine!

O beautiful, for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years,
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!
America! America! God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood, from sea to shining sea!

- Katharine Lee Bates, 1893

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Well over 100 years ago the young English teacher Katharine Lee Bates was inspired enough by her cross-country train trip to write those words about what she saw and hoped for in America. In my own beautiful wandering years I made several driving trips across the country, and I know first hand the awe she felt when leaving the sheltered east and heading out west across the sprawling miles. What an incredible land this is! The sheer scale of it is surprising if you have never passed across it before. The wide variety of climates, ecosystems, animals, and people is something that must be experienced to be truly believed.

Approaching Flagstaff, Arizona: arid desert suddenly gives way to pine-covered mountains

When I think back to those trips, a collage of images tumbles into the front of my mind:

The swampy plains of Memphis and Arkansas; the patchwork highways, the cotton fields steeped in hot morning mist.
Fields of bluebells, brilliant indigo waving in the north Texas breeze.
Endless Kansas wheat fields, golden to the blue horizon as far as the eye could see.
Wind blowing over the stones of the Puerco Ruins in Arizona.

13th-century Puerco Ruins in Arizona

The dusky purple shadows of sunset in the Grand Canyon, a sight which completely silenced even the noisiest group of tourists.

South Edge of the Grand Canyon

A sudden snowstorm in July up near Raton Pass on the southern Colorado border.
Sunset while driving across the glowing white expanse of the Great Salt Lake in Utah.
Waking up to watch the sun rise over the mountains near Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Santa Fe railroad cars chug along the mountains outside Albuquerque, New Mexico

Endless lonely stretches of golden hills in south central California, and tiny towns with names like “Lost Hills,” “Bitter Water” and “Devil’s Den.”
Sitting under the tall pines of Jack’s Peak over Monterey, California, and watching sailboats on the bay below - - tiny white butterflies floating across a deep blue pond.
The thunder of waves at rocky Asilomar Beach - - feeling the delicate flutter of air from passing gulls overhead.

Reaching the Pacific: sunset on Asilomar Beach, California

And of course, a brilliant evening of fireworks over the Washington Monument in Washington, DC that I will never forget.

In those days when cell phones were not so common, I traveled (usually by myself) with no outside communication. Eventually I carried a CB radio. It was only in my later trips across the U.S. that I kept a cell phone for emergencies. I recall times driving, especially across the desert southwest, when there would not be another set of headlights from horizon to horizon. Oddly enough, no matter how desolate the place, I never felt alone - - whether from “immortal youth” or some more metaphysical reason I could not now say.

Mysterious cliff drawings near Puerco Ruins in Arizona

Traveling enough times, however, eventually brought the odds of mishap my way. At those times, I had the privilege of seeing first-hand just how incredible people can be when helping a traveler in need. I have a whole collection of memories of kind folks across the country lending me a hand, perhaps culminating in one particular week out in Tucumcari, New Mexico, where I had to stop for repairs to a badly cracked windshield. This is not an auto part normally kept on hand out in this tiny town in the desert, and it would require a day or two to get it in from the city. The only repair shop in town was run by a Native American gentleman and his daughter - - who kindly lent their brand new pickup truck to me, a stranger, until my van was repaired.

They even fixed the broken hinge on my passenger door when they noticed it.

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I could watch the news until I am queasy from the violence and calamity, and it would only take a few minutes of being open to the messages on the screen to begin feeling my faith in humanity ebbing away. Others can say what they say. I know what I have experienced, and it only takes a walk through the neighborhood to remind me of what I knew during all my travels: people can be pretty amazing when their highest selves are called upon.

As it lengthens by the years, the history of America seems rather like the life of an individual: it becomes a forest of beautiful, straight trees all mixed in with dead, broken branches and overgrown, decaying matter until it sometimes becomes difficult to tell what the forest was. It can be hard to find the original pattern, the driving intent.

It is good to return to the root, the source, to remember why we’re here. While I have some very personal ways to do this for my own life, on this day more than any other I remember with great reverence the call to higher thought that prompted the birth of this country. I used to have the documents hanging on my wall, but the Internet has made it very easy to find if I ever forget the words:

http://www.ushistory.org/Declaration/document/index.htm

and of course:

http://www.ushistory.org/documents/constitution.htm

The Jenotopia household sends its warmest blessings to all our fellow Americans across the globe, and to our friends of all other nations who have offered assistance to strangers without a second thought.

Does a chewed rose smell as sweet? You bet it does!

“These roses under my window make no reference to former roses or to better ones; they are for what they are; they exist with God to-day. There is no time to them. There is simply the rose; it is perfect in every moment of its existence. Before a leaf-bud has burst, its whole life acts; in the full-blown flower there is no more; in the leafless root there is no less. Its nature is satisfied, and it satisfies nature, in all moments alike. But man postpones or remembers; he does not live in the present, but with reverted eye laments the past, or, heedless of the riches that surround him, stands on tiptoe to foresee the future. He cannot be happy and strong until he too lives with nature in the present, above time.”

- Emerson, Self Reliance

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Spring 2009 in Jenotopia has been an unpredictable whirl of torrential downpours, office drama, dozens of chicks, busy family schedules and occasional chaos. Like the flooded earth outside, I have not found enough time for the quiet reflection needed to adequately absorb events and respond in a natural and meaningful manner.

We have nearly finished cleaning up the yard and gardens after weeks of heavy rain, and it is already clear that this gardening season will be very different from last year. Last year’s breathtaking cascade of roses has been replaced with thin, defoliated bushes and piles of brown-tipped, early-rotting blooms: those plants that escaped black spot and the Old-Testament-style host of insects had their blossoms spoiled by still more rain. Our vegetable garden was planted three weeks late, simply because the heavy rain made the ground like chocolate pudding - - too heavy for tilling and planting.

The chicken coops and runs were plagued by dangerous mold from all the rain and humidity, forcing daily cleaning with bleach and lots of shoveling. Even the brooder chicks felt the effects of the weather, being forced to stay indoors instead of playing outside in the health-giving sunshine in the afternoons. I had some initial trouble locating buyers for some of my older chicks, resulting in a bit more crowding than I would have liked. And most unfortunate of all, we had to put down two chicks for unrelated issues, one for severe deformities and one, tragically, for illness related to his digestive system.

My beautiful Skye - - tragically lost to us

Dear, sickly chick begs the question of why there is suffering among little ones

I write all this only to say that now that I have time to reflect on the season’s happenings, I find a general current of dissatisfaction underlying my perception of things. When I look around and see chewed roses and mucky gardens, sick pets and stressed families and piles of paperwork and a messy house, I realize I am comparing these things to an ideal I have in my head - - an ideal of perfection.

So what is perfection, this thing at the source of my unease? –And more importantly, can I have it surgically removed?

A Western philosopher could take the predictable route through Aristotle, through Thomas Aquinas and others who follow and interpret the concept of perfection through religious lenses as it relates to mankind and his environment - - and his God. Mathematicians, chemists and those of the scientific ilk may take refuge in quantifications of perfection that may be calculated or measured. Perfection in art further complicates the philosophical picture, now elevating the question to throbbing Jenotopia headache status.

I will reserve the headache-inducing philosophical arguments for my unfortunate family and nearby friends, then, and suffice with this: I finally realized I have perpetuated my own sense of unease and dissatisfaction by maintaining a personal idea of perfection that is flawless, spotless, glossy, improbable, and not in keeping with the glorious, overgrown chaos of reality in which I live. In my mind’s eye I saw velvety, flawless roses in a beautifully-manicured garden; weather that responded to my every whim; customers who called when I wanted them to and purchased my birds without question; a house that magically maintained itself; and a family that constantly read my mind and did whatever I wished. By maintaining this exercise in fantasy, my eye became trained to miss the unscrubbed uniqueness and beauty that is all around me!

Remember those chewed roses I mentioned? They sufficed quite well for the bees, and in the mornings and evenings their heavenly perfume still fills the air when I am out in the yard.

The soppy, late vegetable garden? We tilled and planted it just fine once the rain ended, and we now have lovely brown rows of earth with all sorts of vegetables peeping out and blooming. The soil texture is now the best it has ever been.

New rows of plants and sleeping seeds: late but still viable

The moldy, wet chicken coops? They are drying out, and the hens come out and flap their wings in hearty satisfaction when they see the morning sun rising behind the maple trees.

The overcrowded chicks? My handsome, noisy young roosters have all been sold off to live with their own harems of lovely ladies, and I have three beautiful young pullets growing into very fine laying hens. Fall in Jenotopia will be chock-full of blue and dark brown eggs!

Nick struts around . . . in the kitchen??

We miss you already, Big Rosie

Farewell, Apollo and Daphne

Pretty young pullets

And my family? They are as loving as ever, and those who need to are stepping in to support those in need. The children are growing into beautiful adults, we adults are learning what is important in life, and we are all growing wiser and more appreciative of each other.

And how about that job? Back at the office my paperwork ebbs and flows but never really goes away, but as I watch friends and acquaintances struggle with layoffs and life changes while I enjoy abundance, I realize just how fortunate I am to remain insulated against many of the changes going on in the world around me. I have goals and dreams for the future path of my life - - but while out in the garden on a sunny Saturday morning snipping plants and enjoying the sounds of the girls clucking away, I am filled with the silent knowledge that in its own funny way my life is complete right now - - in all its unvacuumed, bug-chewed, feather-strewn glory.

What is perfection, then? I won’t presume to argue with the great philosophers or mathematicians or spiritual leaders, but for me perfection is that which is sufficient unto itself. It lacks nothing: it is harmonious, a state of completeness. It is not a static, unchanging ideal: it reflects the beauty and power of the objects and individuals I encounter - - all of whom are complete, yet ever-unfolding into their unique potential.

I am looking forward to another perfect summer.

RT holding tiny Black Copper Marans chick

By this time of year it seems that spring will never come to Middle Tennessee. The landscape is an endless wash of grey, and every tease of warmth is quickly followed by chill winds and bleak winter rain. We even had snow again last weekend, brought along on an icy northern cloud that whipped through the state in a matter of hours and left one to ten inches of white in its wake. Now, the southern winter weather is by no means a competitor for the Buffalo-Rochester winters of my early childhood, but the cold grey days add up for all of us and make us wonder when spring will begin creeping over the landscape to bring us some green relief.

All is not lifeless and asleep, though: all across the countryside tiny new lives are arriving, harbingers of the coming season. In mid-February I made my third visit to Bonnie Blue Farm to witness kidding season in all its glory. The weather made its usual ups and downs during my stay, but nothing stopped the lovely ladies from their business of bringing tiny newborn kids to the farm.

Kidding season is a busy time for a working goat dairy. Along with the daily tasks of milking, feeding and caring for fifty goats; creating delicious, fresh cheeses and getting them to market comes the added responsibility of tending to new mothers and their young. But before the kidding comes the waiting . . .

Sugar waits for her goat kids to be born

Goat does do not always cooperate with their scheduled due dates. They also do not coordinate kidding times with other farm tasks. This means plenty of watching and waiting, and just when you think things are going to quiet down - -

“Mind if I nibble on your ear?” –Healthy young Nubian twins

Surprise!

I was fortunate to witness the births of two sets of beautiful Nubian goat twins, each with one buckling and one doeling. Luckily, both births went quickly and uneventfully. As any farmer can tell you, though, things do not always go smoothly, and farming with animals has its share of tragedies. Like Life itself, though, Bonnie Blue Farm moves through the beauty and tragedy of kidding season in its own mysterious rhythm, and even suffering and death have their time and season.

Young Saanen doelings in motion

The Jenotopia household has been full of excitement as well: we have tiny chicks hatching in new incubators, and we now have two brooder cages of babies basking and playing under heat lamps. The little fellow in the top picture of this post came into the world on February 26 with a tiny peck from inside his dark brown egg:

Marans chick pipping, February 26

As chickens approach Day 21 of their incubation, they will move into hatching position facing the large end of the egg. During this time they pierce the air cell at the end of the egg, and you can begin to hear them peeping from inside the egg! Next comes the “pip”—the chick makes a sharp peck in the shell itself and samples outside air for the first time. Usually the chick rests for several hours while it converts to pulmonary respiration and finishes absorbing the last of the yolk sac.

When it is ready, the chick will then start “zipping” the shell by making a line of pecks at beak level, turning inside the shell and continuing the line until it can pop the bottom of the shell open in a heroic effort that exhausts all its energy.

Tiny newborn Marans chick lies exhausted after hatching

The tired, wet chick will rest again and then begin to crawl around and learn to use its tiny muscles. A few more short hours will find a fluffed chick wobbling around looking for its siblings!

Our new chicks have already grown quickly, with the first batch of Ameraucana chicks over three times the size of its week-younger French Marans neighbors.

Lovely group of buff Ameraucana chicks at two days, February 21

The chicks will begin growing feathers on their tiny wings first:

Tiny wing feathers already beginning to grow at four days of age

And in another week we may be able to start telling the difference between the pullets and cockerels (girls and boys). The Ameraucana females will lay blue-tinted eggs when they are all grown up, about five months of age or so. Whether they are male or female, though, they are sure to be beautiful!

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I have seen forty spring seasons come and go, and no matter how well I think I understand the ebb and flow of Life I continue to be astonished by it. The act of witnessing the miracle of newborns entering this world still renders me a little child – tongue-tied, helpless, awestruck at the precious fragility and amazing resilience of tiny lives taking their places in the Great Circle. I am humbled by the Miracle whose spark I still cannot explain, though I have read hundreds of thousands of pages of science and math and philosophy and religion.

I enjoy my great privilege of welcoming these little ones into the remains of another Tennessee winter, and I know that very soon now the daffodils will unfold in the front yard, and the first tinge of green will creep across the landscape. The rest of the migratory birds will return to build nests, and the night air will be filled with the sound of frogs at the creek. The chicks and kid goats will scamper and play and grow, warm summer will be here before I know it, and that sweet rhythm of Life will roll on in its beauty and mystery while I hang on, childlike, and enjoy the ride.

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What? . . .

If you would like to know more about where I purchased my Ameraucana eggs, please visit talented breeder and regional Ameraucana Breeder Club Director Jean Ribbeck at http://home.sprynet.com/~rribbeck/ .

If you would like to read more about chickens, have questions about poultry health, want to find other poultry enthusiasts, or wish to find rare or unusual birds for sale, I highly recommend the wonderful Backyard Chickens Forum, http://www.backyardchickens.com/forum/index.php .

If you are in Tennessee and would like to find out where to find award-winning Bonnie Blue Farm cheeses – or perhaps even visit the farm and stay in Gayle and Jim’s lovely guest cabin, visit http://www.bonniebluefarm.com/ .