A Fathers’ Day Cigar
Burned out. Frustrated. It is a challenge to continue to write meaningful insights without reinforcement. The American public does not understand how to improve society.
Time to back off and stop thinking about the now. I’m on the screened-in back porch overlooking the Chuckatuck. (Algonquin for “Crooked Creek). Good Bourbon and a mild cigar help. Wordsworth’s sonnet comes to mind. “The world is too much with us; …”
Isle of Wight county is half a mile across the water. Bones, our black dog with some mix of brown, is down at my feet. Barb took him in a dozen years ago. His muzzle is starting to gray as my old hair is. Out here in the edge of the farmland people drop dogs off, not being willing to take them to the city shelter where they will probably be killed. He is a fine fellow and a good companion. He has already had his afternoon ride and walk along Ferry Point road, but the biting bugs are out and there was more ride than walk.
Grackles have roosted in the trees by the marsh this year. There are new chicks finding the plenty of spiders, bugs, and worms in our backyard grass. With the many other winged critters, we are not experiencing a silent spring. We regularly see bald eagles, various kinds of hawks, and osprey. Previously we participate in the Cornell University Backyard Bird count. About fifteen years ago I reported an osprey the first of February. Funny. They called to determine if I knew what an osprey really looks like. Now, with the climate changing, they regularly come early. There are shore birds out in the creek and woodland birds including blue birds, various types of woodpeckers, mocking birds, brown thrush, finch, Towhees, and so on in the trees between the house and the marsh. Yesterday three whitetail deer came out of the trees along the marsh, playing and frolicking in the front yard without a care in the world.
The new neighbors we have not met, are out on their new pier launching kayaks. It looks like three generations of a family, going out to enjoy the water sport. They will probably have a backyard barbeque late as we will. Son, Chris, called and it was good to talk with him. He is far away, which is usual because of his work, but it is wonderful to talk with him.
The cigar is now finished, but there is still too much bourbon available. They have helped. Watching and reflecting on nature have also. Unfortunately, a copy of John Townsend Trowbridge’s The South is close at hand. The book was contracted by a northern publisher for Trowbridge to travel throughout the Confederate states just after the Civil War, writing about what he observed. The book documents the condition of the South and views of Northerners and Southerners about the success of the war and the different future each group anticipates.
As today, neither group understood enough about society to predict the future or how to make it better. Southerners held black folks in low regard thinking them lazy people that must be forced to work. Northerners felt that blacks were already proving themselves in the north as being just as good at working as whites in terms of being productive and providing for their families.
But northerners attempted to change America through war and laws, not understanding the fundamentals of what had to be changed in society to create an equality-based America. Today in 2020 there are riots and violence in our streets because the American public still does not understand these issues. Hopefully our information in ABetterSociety.Info will help.
© Joseph L. Bass, EdD, June 2020
William Wordsworth - The World Is Too Much with Us
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. --Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.