Category Archives: Meditations

Autumn watch

Thursday was the last day of our neighborhood farmers market. It was sunny, windy, and cold. The farmers from Mattapoisett weren’t there; “They said they had nothing to sell,” said Mary, the farmer from Dartmouth. Mary told me about the cafe she’s going to open in Fall River, where she’ll sell her baked goods. “Will you sell produce and eggs?” I asked. “Well, maybe some eggs,” she said. Carol and I bought apples, turnips, squash, and eggs from her. We said goodbye to Mary until July, and then we walked home in the bright sun, talking sadly about how we will miss the farmers market.

Although the farmers market has gone for the year, some of the winter residents have finally begun to return to New Bedford harbor. As I was walking to Fairhaven today along Route 6, I noticed there were some four dozen Brant along with the usual flock of gulls and Mallards that feed where a big culvert drains into the harbor. I stood there in the sun for a while, ignoring the four lanes of traffic rushing along behind me, watching those four dozen small geese who had finally arrived at their winter residence from wherever they spent the breeding season.

At night

In the middle of the night, a crash of rain on the skylight awakened me. It sounded so loud and harsh that, dazed by sleep, I was sure the glass in the skylight would break and the water would come pouring in; half-dreaming, I thought about where I’d get plywood to cover the open skylight, and would the landlord repair the glass quickly? Somehow it never occurred to me that if the skylight broke there would be little bits of tempered glass all over the floor: all I could think about was how we would clean up the water that was sure to pour in. The rain squall was soon over, and slowly I calmed down and drifted back to sleep.

Autumn watch

On Monday, I noticed that there were no fishing boats moored at the wharf next to the Maritime Terminal building. When the big reefers come in, this is where they tie up to offload whatever perishable cargo they’re carrying. I kept on walking down the waterfront, and as I was standing on State Pier, I could see a good-sized ship slowly coming through the hurricane barrier. Since it was a nice sunny fall day, I decided to stand there and watch it come into New Bedford harbor. A police boat raced down the harbor to escort the ship to its berth. When the ship got close enough, I could make out the name on her bows: Nova Zeelandia. The tug Miss Yvette was attached to her stern, and the tug Jaguar circled around her bows, occasionally tooting its whistle at the big ship. One of the water taxis sped out towards her, presumably ready to take one of the officers to the Customs House. The swing-span bridge swung open, and I watched long enough to see the tugs and the police boat escort her through, while the little water taxi sped after them all, trying to catch up.

Yesterday evening at about ten o’clock, Carol and I were driving back into New Bedford across the harbor on Route 6. We passed the Nova Zeelandia, all her lights on, still unloading her cargo at that late hour. It looked like they were unloading boxes of fruit — perhaps oranges or clementines from Africa (you can track her position on this Web site, which shows her leaving Morocco sometime before 11 October, and passing by the Azores). Forklifts were running back and forth, and several tractor-trailer rigs were backed up to the wharf, ready to take on pallets of the fruit.

We don’t seem to have many of the big ships coming in during the summer, but one of the signs of autumn is the return of the reefers, offloading fresh fruit for New England markets.

Pictures of Nova Zeelandia here and here.

Autumn watch

The alarm went off this morning, and I staggered out of bed to shut it off. It seemed so dark that I was sure the alarm had gone off early. When I checked it, the alarm was set at exactly the same time it is always set for; but now the sun is rising late enough that I’m finally aware of it.

The wind blew ferociously all day, whipping leaves off trees, and coming around the side of tall buildings to slap you in the face. Carol and I went for a walk today, and we decided that wind was just too bitter to walk along the waterfront; so we walked up around the railroad yard instead, where it’s a little more sheltered. Even then, the cold north wind made us put our heads down, and tuck our hands in our pockets.

Tonight, we’re supposed to get a hard freeze, our first hard freeze of the year. Being close to the ocean moderates the temperature, but eventually the cold weather settles in here, too.

Autumn watch

A long drive up to Walpole, New Hampshire, today to sing with the New England Sacred Harp Convention. Walpole sits down in the Connecticut River valley, with the river on one side and steep hills on the other side. After the singing, K—- and I decided to stretch our legs before the long drive home. We walked up a side road to the height of land behind the town, and looked down into the river valley, and across at the hills of Vermont on the other side of the river.

“Looks like the trees are almost at peak color,” K—- said. The view of the Vermont hills was framed by one big sugar maple that was glorious in its red, orange, yellow, and green leaves. We started driving, mostly downhill, and by the time we got to the Boston suburbs, we noticed a distinct difference:– the trees were mostly green, except for the red maples in the low-lying swamps.

Autumn watch

Across the street from the fast food joint at County and Elm Streets, there’s a house that has a beautiful copper beech growing in the yard. I was walking down Elm Street when I heard an odd rustling sort of sound coming from the copper beech. I looked over and saw that brown stuff was dropping out of the tree, and I realized what was going on: the beech nuts were ripe, and some squirrels were sitting up in the tree shelling them and eating them as fast as they could. The sound was the squirrels cracking open the beech nuts, and the brown stuff coming down was beech nut shells. Squirrels almost always get to beech nuts before we humans do. I can only remember once when I got to eat any beech nuts:– a warm evening in October, 1999, while sitting outdoors reading theology on the back steps of the library of Andover Newton Theological School. The steps were covered with beech nuts that had fallen from the two big beech trees that grew nearby, and half of the beech nuts I picked still had the kernels in them. I cracked them open and ate the kernels, which tasted very good indeed; and I finally understood why the squirrels rarely leave any for us humans to eat.

Autumn watch

This year, I’ve been so busy that I’ve been watching the emergence of fall colors through car windows. Two weeks ago, the trees along the highways here in southeastern New England were almost entirely green. But as I was driving into Providence this afternoon, I saw lots of maples tipped with red or orange, and I saw several trees that were completely red.

I don’t particularly like the fact that the only time I get to look at fall color is when I’m driving. That is a sure indication that I am too busy — busier than I need to be. No one is so important that they can’t take a few hours each week to walk around a park, or out in the woods if that’s possible, and look at trees. No one is that important, yet somehow I have managed to set up my life so that the only time I get to look at trees is when I’m driving madly to get somewhere else.

“Do not re-use!”

Sometimes you just have to catch up with filing. For the past five years, I’ve been stuffing my sermon manuscripts into a file drawer in rough chronological order, but the file drawer was getting full and it was time to put all those manuscripts into three-ring binders so I could actually refer to them if I wanted. What’s the point of keeping all those manuscripts if I can’t use them?

As I sorted through all those manuscripts, things would catch my eye. I had labeled one sermon, preached five years ago at a church which shall remain nameless, “DO NOT RE-USE!” in big purple letters. Oh yes, I remembered now — that was a real stinker, probably the worst sermon I’ve ever given. Another sermon was labeled “Blah” — not surprisingly, I have no memory whatsoever of that one. A dozen pages of handwritten manuscript were labeled, “Never finished, never used” — I have no idea why I kept those pages, but under the assumption that I must have had a reason I dutifully inserted them into the appropriate time slot in one of the binders. Another sermon caught my eye, because I remembered that when I wrote it I thought it was pretty good — I re-read it, and it was not very good at all.

But who cares if it was the failed sermons that caught my eye. It has very been satisfying to get all those manuscripts organized. For someone like me, a good filing system is its own reward, regardless of what the files actually contain.

Blah

Carol went up to Maine to sell her books and composting toilets at a fair. She came back with a sinus cold. I’m worried she’s going to give it to me. I don’t have time to have a cold! Work is crazy! I need to spend long hours working!

What’s that you say? Overwork can cause increased vulnerability to illness?

Uh oh.