Robert Burns Nailed It

The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley,
or, as the modern translation states,
The best laid schemes of mice and men go often askew.

Our camping trip under Oregon skies, ostensibly to view the Perseids meteor shower, was less than auspicious. That is to say, it was a bust, celestial viewing speaking. After 29 dry never-a-drop-of-rain days in Northwest Oregon, the skies chose that very night to open up and pour a full inch of rain on our unsuspecting and astonished heads! Who knew?

And it wasn’t enough that we missed our meteor shower; we had the added attraction of experiencing flooded tents! Sure, we remembered to bring our rain flaps – we even put them on just so. Nothing dissuaded the water, however, from running into Rae Anne’s tent as she camped on a small depression at the edge of the campsite. Sometime during the night she crawled into our tent, wringing wet and shivering like a drenched puppy. The three of us finished out the night in relative dryness (as opposed to swimming in the tent – the next stage in our condition) and, as soon as the sun arose and the torrent let up just a bit, we broke camp, threw all of our damp possessions into the cars, and headed home to warm showers and dry beds.

Actually, we spent most of the day cleaning out tents, washing sleeping bags and clothing, scrubbing down camping equipment, and sorting through our remaining rations of semi-dry foodstuffs. Of course, the rain stopped soon after we got home and that was the end of that! Turns out our camping venture took place on the only day it has rained around here since late June – with no rain forecast for the immediate future. Sigh.

Usually, I like to think I'm organized. When I plan an activity, I try to take into account all contingencies - and most of my ventures are met with some degree of success. But, once again, God has chosen to remind me that, really, I have little control over anything in my life. What makes me think differently? "The best laid plans . . . etc.." Foolish broad.

Yes, we’ll go camping again. When Wally and I return from our visit to California we plan to camp a few nights on Mt. Hood – rain or shine. But it would be just grand if the weatherman (or whoever wants to take responsibility for climate control) would promise just a bit of sunshine – or, at the least, no floods, fires, hurricanes, or earthquakes. Just a simple camping trip. Please.

Catch a Falling Star and Put it in Your Pocket

I am ready for this year's Perseid Meteor Shower.

The Perseid meteor shower has a wonderful and somewhat grisly history. Often referred to as the "Tears of St. Lawrence" this annual shower coincidentally occurs roughly about the same date as the saint's death is commemorated on August 10. While scientifically we know the appearance of the shooting stars are the by-products of comet Swift-Tuttle, our somewhat more superstitious ancestors viewed them as the tears of a martyred man who was burned for his beliefs. Who couldn't appreciate a fellow who had the candor to quip, “It is well done. Turn me over!" while being burned alive? If nothing else but save for that very quote, I'll tip a wave to St. Lawrence at the sight of a Perseid tonight.

This evening Wally and I will join Rae Anne where she’s camping in Oxbow Park. We’ll look for a clearing and hope for a cloudless sky (unlikely, according to weather reports). Scanning the skies for the annual shower of space dust long has been a favorite past time in our family. In the early 90’s the most wonderful show of all occurred! We parked on Lone Pine Highway, the very deserted and dark back road to Wrightwood in the San Gabriel Mountains. Usually we encountered few fellow observers as we performed our annual celestial pilgrimage. However, word had spread that the close return of Swift-Tuttle in 1992 heralded a record-setting storm of meteors and no one wanted to miss the show! The road was lined with dozens of cars and vans with people spread all over the landscape, craning their necks for a total view of the heavens. We were delighted! This was Southern California: usually the stars that caught the attention of the populace were the ones found in Hollywood! Who knew so many people would care to make the effort to watch this heavenly production? It delighted us, especially, to see the number of children whose parents were providing this brilliant moment for them. Way to go, Mom and Dad!

We have watched the Perseids from every natural plane imaginable: from desert floor, from mountaintop, from coastal sand, even from a rooftop or two. My favorite venue was watching the skies, lying on a blanket on the dusty ground of Table Mountain above the Mohave Desert. Sigh. Best view on the planet – at least, it was the best view. Then civilization swarmed into the desert, spilling over the sand like hungry locusts, raising the specter of ambient light that robbed the pristine firmament of its night.

Now we await the mid-August theater from our perch on a mountain in Oregon. Clear skies are not a given, so we have to hope for the best. Still, it’s good to know that the show continues, just as it has for centuries. It doesn’t matter if we get a good view; it does matter that we make the effort. This meteor shower, appearing as regularly as the tides, reinforces our connection to the universe. We can make the choice to be a part of something over which we have no control; on our puny calendars we can foolishly “schedule” a visit from the stars and believe for a moment that the show is for us – that somehow God is tipping His hat to us and dusting us with a little star power - to delight our senses and fill our souls.

Patriotism

Not my own words, but certainly my thoughts as I kneel in my overgrown garden, pulling weeds and harvesting the bounty. How generous this earth - how blessed are we!

Patriotism

My country is this dirt
that gathers under my fingernails
when I am in the garden.
The quiet bacteria and fungi,
all the little insects and bugs
are my compatriots. They are
idealistic, always working together
for the common good.
I kneel on the earth
and pledge my allegiance
to all the dirt of the world,
to all of that soil which grows
flowers and food
for the just and unjust alike.
The soil does not care
what we think about or who we love.
It knows our true substance,
of what we are really made.
I stand my ground on this ground,
this ground which will
ultimately
recruit us all
to its side.