Wednesday, August 05, 2020

Peach Butter in the Age of Trump

Enterprise! Two loaves of peach bread in dough chrysalis are baking. An excess of bread dough that I refrigerated is now rising to the occasion (sic). Several pounds of peaches have been processed and remain chill in the freezer. I mention this for the usual Facebark reason: look at me!

The exercise holds something more, however. In the recent and much-bruited interview that the president gave, he answered a question with five grey words: It is what it is. In reference to the pandemic. Translation: I got nothing. We are in trouble.

My spidey sense tells me that we all will need a higher level of self-sufficiency. The supply chain is rattled. You may (and anyway should) become more active in the education of your children. The things you depend on, whether it is NFL games, vaccines, or Heineken 12-packs, may not be readily forthcoming. Not to say peach bread will save us but an attitude of make rather than take might be beneficial.

I don’t mean to sound gloomy. Both Beth and I felt invigorated by the process of dealing with our largesse of peaches. It was not just making peach bread and peach butter but getting a freezer and where to put it and how to freeze peaches and when to do this. Peach butter is the happy by product of our endeavor. Well-placed endeavor and kindliness will be key as we process the mess that we face.

Tuesday, August 04, 2020

The Thoreau You Don’t Know by Robert Sullivan

I am reading The Thoreau You Don’t Know by Robert Sullivan. It is a bio and assessment. I think Sullivan gives a clear view of the man and his work.

I say that because the idea that Thoreau was a hermit lingers, tho his writing gives full evidence that he was no such thing. Thoreau’s writing is filled with encounters with farmers, itinerants, most anybody.

I first read Walden years ago, probably before I was twenty. Read other work by him. His journals really opened his work to me. I found his journals, 12 or 13 volumes, remaindered for cheap, a glorious find. The informality and inclusiveness of a journal fit his nature.

It always surprises me when people demean Thoreau. Seems like he angers some few readers. I get that he sometimes espouses in a haughty way, with a kind of Puritan strictness. He is such a charming writer, tho, with sparks of humor. And he relentlessly makes sense, even, perhaps, when he doesn’t. I mean he posits in Walden that a coffin-like railroad box would suffice for a home. He’s joking, but there’s an extremity to that joking that he almost means.

Sullivan imparts much warmth to his vision of Thoreau. Taking care of Emerson’s children, for instance. Children were charmed by Thoreau. Concord’s children all attended his funeral.

Sullivan’s book could be a good intro for those who haven’t read Thoreau. Sullivan likesThoreau but doesn’t idolize him. Sullivan captures the iconoclasm of his subject but also the stern sensibility.

I have lived within Thoreau’s map for much of my life. For a few years I made it a point to run to his gravesite on Christmas Day. Sleepy Hollow cemetery was only a couple miles away but I would be exhausted from working retail during the holidays. So it was a trudge to get there but worth it. There would always be gifts for Henry on the simple gravestone: sticks, rocks, flowers, even letters. The letters were kind of obnoxious idolatry but the ceremony of my visit seemed right. Sullivan’s book gives a fresh but not slavish view of a keen-eyed writer.