You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall
Just want to thank all of you who have downloaded your own copy of my novel Hippie Drum and to say how much I hope you’ve enjoyed it.
Since it’s my third published novel, and another in what’s considered the “experimental” literature realm, I’m grateful for all of the positive reaction.
If you haven’t yet joined the club of readers, let me encourage you to join now. Just click here for your own free copy.
The Canterbury Shaker Village is a remarkable place to revisit history. I’ve had a lifelong appreciation of Shaker architecture and furniture. In fact, we used to bicycle out to what had been a Shaker village and catch crawdads in the stream. Our denomination also had its orphanage and retirement center at another former Shaker village not far south of us, and I remember touring its remaining buildings.
But Canterbury was one of the last two villages, and one Friend speaks fondly of his conversations with the sisters. Today it is a well preserved living history museum.
So one weekday, when I was free of the office, my girlfriend and I went up for a tour. As we arrived, I noticed one of my coworkers, Ellie Ferriter, and in greeting, asked what she was doing there. “I’m here to meet Julia Child,” she replied. Yeah, sure. “No really, she’s here to tape an interview with the chef.”
One of the things the museum had done was open a restaurant with a menu drawn from the distinctive Shaker recipes, and there was reason to celebrate the cuisine.
Sure enough, when we came back from our tour, there was Ellie, interviewing Julia. Now Ellie was a large woman, but Julia was larger – in fact, towering above and around the interviewer. I hadn’t expected that, even though one profile had described her as having very long legs when she went to work in military intelligence back during World War II.
Julia had already had a long influence on me. In high school, when we finally got a TV set that included UHF, I could finally watch the “educational station” out of Cincinnati, and there, through the snowy image that barely came through, I was introduced to exotic foods like lobsters, asparagus, artichokes, baguettes and croissants, hollandaise. Well, introduced to their concepts and preparation. The actual introductions would come across the years, and what had been exotic has long since become standard.
We settled into the Creamery, the small restaurant, for lunch – my girlfriend and I along with a couple from England at one table, Julia and Ellie at the next one. We could overhear every word. Our English visitors, meanwhile, had no idea who Julia was.
Later, I noticed Julia sitting alone in a shaded spot. Wondered if she was lonely or just needed a break. I was tempted to approach and introduce myself, but refrained.
* * *
About that same time, I was talking with a woman who knew someone whose husband conferred with Julia several times each year, and the wife was expected to serve lunch – a daunting prospect. What do you prepare for one of the world’s most famous cooks and food writers? And then she discovered that a boiled lobster and fresh green salad were always savored.
How I’ve come to love that insight when facing a seemingly impossible assignment – a simple but elegant solution, as the Shakers demonstrated, may be the ideal.
Here’s to Julia’s 101st birthday.
Quakers use the word meeting in many ways. Originating in the mid-1600s in England, Friends understood that church meant the body of believers – not the building, not the denomination, not the structure of hierarchy. Thus, you didn’t go to church – you gathered with the church. And so, the church (that is, people) met. The gathering of the faithful, and their time of worship, quickly became known as a meeting. Within it, we meet with each other and with God – early Friends proclaimed Christ had come to teach his people himself, and they sat in what became known as expectant waiting for his presence. Modern Friends may prefer other terms to describe the experience, even while retaining an awareness of Spirit-led worship. (I might add that in today’s frenetic world, an individual also meets with himself or herself, especially at the beginning of the hour, personally collecting scattered experiences of the week and renewing one’s sense of inner direction.) When we have a building set apart for worship, it is called, logically, a meetinghouse – here, we meet. In addition to the meanings of meeting as the people and as the worship service, Quakers also began to apply the term to congregations and organization; this is based, curiously, on the frequency of each group’s gathering for the conduct of its business and discipline, or what we now usually call faith and practice. The local congregation is typically known as a monthly meeting. Neighboring monthly meetings participate in a quarterly meeting, four times a year. And the quarterly meetings come together as a regional yearly meeting, which has sessions once a year. (There are some variations within this, but in terms of decision-making authority, the monthly/quarterly/yearly connection holds). Thus, my congregation, Dover Monthly Meeting, is part of Dover Quarterly Meeting and New England Yearly Meeting.
All of this originated in response to the open worship and the desire to strengthen and deepen it. Early Friends soon perceived themselves as a people of faith, rather than as motley individuals, and that vision has left a treasured legacy of social change that is taken for granted by most people today. Again, I’ll leave that discussion to a number of excellent Quaker history volumes.
Even so, as we begin to participate within our spiritual community, we realize that when we’re faithful, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Here in Dover, I’m constantly surprised to find how far our activities extend, within the meeting itself (in all of its meanings) and throughout the surrounding towns and various networks of concern. Surprised, too, at the range of talent and skill in our midst. In the history of Friends, we have somehow come to rely on committees to meet our common organizational needs. I’m not sure when this emerged, and believe that early on, many of the tasks were performed within extended families, but today’s Quaker meetings depend on Friends’ service on various committees – everything from Ministry and Worship or Pastoral Care to Finance or Trustees to Religious Education or Building and Grounds to Hospitality or Peace and Justice Concerns. In practice, what I’ve observed is that these never all function smoothly at the same time. Even so, they extend our understanding of waiting from one of expectation to one of service, a meaning we see in language through terms such as waiter or waitress or lady in waiting. As I’ve said, in practice, sustaining a weekly hour of silence is not easy, individually or as a group. Nonetheless, I still find it’s essential, both ways.
“Hey, you know your portrait’s hanging at Harvard?”
“Eh?” I replied, wondering what century the canvas would have evoked.
“No, it was the ‘60s. You were younger, of course.” And while a residence hall on the Yard was mentioned, I was too awash in wonder to catch the details. (Darn!)
Still, it stirs up the what-if musings.
At the time, Ivy League was completely outside my range of possibilities, beginning with finances.
Even so, here we were, one town over, a half-century later.
If only …
Or if they only knew …
Portsmouth, a city of 24,000 just a dozen miles to our south, probably has as many restaurants per capita as Manhattan – by some counts, 160 within a close radius of the downtown.
Much of the demand relies on the tourist trade. Nearly everyone driving to Maine comes through the city, usually on Interstate 95. Half of those going to New Hampshire’s White Mountains turn north there as well. And many simply stop altogether to vacation. It is, after all, on the Atlantic.
Still, that’s a lot of dining.
It’s a rare book archive at your fingertips. The Earlham School of Religion’s Digital Quaker Collection, “a digital library containing full text and page images of over 500 individual Quaker works from the 17th and 18th centuries,” is an amazing site, allowing you free access to some very rare volumes, which you can view page by page in both their original typography and a much more readable contemporary typeface. While some of the works are Quaker classics that have been republished and are available in our meeting library, others are next to impossible to find.
Elizabeth Bathurst, for instance, is among the finest writers to delve into Quaker theology in the early years, yet remains essentially unknown except for the single, slim volume found here.
And then there’s the journal of Joseph Hoag, who had close connections to Dover and could claim to have visited every Quaker meeting in the United States. (He was hardly alone in that matter of visitation among Friends.) His recollections of riding across a field he imagined soaked in blood becomes especially chilling when you discover this was Gettysburg a half-century before the Civil War battle – a crossing accompanied by his vision of the nation rent asunder by the enormity of slavery.
The two volumes of Joseph Besse’s Sufferings (to use the much shortened title) records every Quaker known to have been persecuted in the first four decades of Friends. Not only is this a great genealogical resource, it also demonstrates where our meticulous practice of minuting our business originates. For perspective, consider that a fine of 10 pounds was also the price of three or four cows. But you don’t have to recalculate time spent imprisoned.
Rarities can also be found on other sites. The California Digital Library (archive.org), for example, has Fernando G. Cartland’s Southern Heroes or Friends in War Time, detailing the persecution of Quakers in North Carolina, especially, during the Civil War. Their witness needs to be better known.
Another treasure is a set of transcriptions of the surviving minutes of the first monthly meeting in Ireland, in Lurgan (Google “Lurgan Quaker Minutes” or go to cephafisher.net/LurganMinutes). Taken mostly from the “means” or men’s side of the business, these provide insights into the evolving sense of Friends community and reflect the importance of our tradition of minuting. How I love, too, those sessions marked “no business to report.”
To think, you can check ‘em out without having to travel anywhere!
As I said at the time: Golly, I hadn’t thought in terms of “lower middle class” in ages, though that’s where I’ve been most of my adult life – even as management. According to government statistics, at least, and thanks to my union card, we made it up to median income, although in reality, considering the cost of housing in New England, we were never quite there. Before the housing market decline (our property had more than doubled in price in a half-dozen years), my wife saw the assessment and cried out, “I never thought I’d live in a quarter-million dollar house – and it’s still a dump!” Yup.
What is amazing is what can be accomplished when we focus our resources and set priorities. The secret is that you can’t have it all. My wife would love to travel, but then we managed for her to not have to be employed, which in turn allowed her to return to college and to chair the local charter high school (a full-time, unpaid job) while taking care of both her mother and the girls. Maybe we’ll get around to travel, but for now, there are too many other demands – on our time, especially. I was able to carve out blocks to draft/revise large sections of work, although in doing so, I wasn’t submitting much anywhere – that would come later, probably in retirement. So I hoped.
One of our favorite writers, Wendell Barry, points out that a divorced family is, on paper, far more economically viable because it has to pay for two households, hold down two jobs, maintain two cars, and so on, each point adding to the cash flow, which can be measured. Of course, that fails to calculate a lot of other, more meaningful values. Keeping my mother-in-law in her own little apartment in the barn, for instance, allows her some independence while still getting some family care – none of it showing up in the gross national product, or whatever we call that calculation these days.
Among those dim memories from childhood are Sunday afternoon drives, including one on a dull rainy day as we approached Farmersville. As Dad slowed the car, I heard an eerie panorama of tinkling glass and looked out over a seeming junkyard with large, black figures shaped from roofing tin, I suppose – witches, Indians on horseback, perhaps cowboys and the like – and many poles “like cornstalks,” as some have described, but with bottles instead of leaves. Plus, as I’ve read, a number of old church bells mounted somewhere, in addition to the bells of grazing sheep.
Yes, it was the chorus of sound that lingered strongest in my mind.
By the time we got a chance to go back, it had all been razed, declared a public health hazard, I remember hearing, because of the broken glass caused by vandals. Other stories suggested the orgies of motorcycle gangs instead.
One history I’d heard, that this was a relative of the late comedian Jonathan Winters, proved erroneous. The owner’s name was not Zero Winters, but Winter Zellar (Zero) Swartsel (1876-1953), an eccentric who turned his 22 acres into artwork fashioned from discards such as old bedframes and twisted wire. What I retain from that one day is far more cluttered than the clean photographs taken by Edward Weston.
It’s all lost, of course. How much it could have been an installation in some gallery will forever remain conjectural, but Winter was way ahead of his time on his multi-sensual approach to creation.
As I said at the time, a question raised in a Quaker Life letter-to-the-editor a while back keeps nagging at me (the magazine, not the cereal). It said, essentially, that in light of all he keeps hearing and reading, he wonders if there’s still a place for a Republican like himself in the Society of Friends. (Obviously, he hasn’t seen the bumper sticker, either: Real Friends don’t let Friends vote for Republicans.)
It’s troubling on many fronts. For all of our claims of “seeing that of God in all people,” we can be pretty one-sided in our public views. Ditto for our proclamations of “inclusiveness” – we do carry a number of exclusionary issues, often subtle, and not just political. And we do know that many Friends are involved in party politics – to the best of my knowledge, all on one side of the political spectrum. In support of the letter writer, let me point out that Friends were instrumental in founding the Republican Party, and I believe the last two Quakers in Congress were GOP members. In addition, the Friends Committee on National Legislation makes an effort to cite individuals on both sides of the aisle when their votes coincide with Quaker values – for the record, you’ll see New Hampshire’s congressional members sometimes named there. I certainly don’t want us to be blind to the fact that saints and sinners can be found in all parties. To say nothing of the principle of the separation of church and state.
Besides, I’ve heard it said – not just of my Meeting – “I know what they believe in politically. I just don’t know what they believe in” – meaning religiously. That part really troubles me. I would hope that our faith experience is guiding our individual social activism, rather than being limited within it. Maybe we need to be more vocal about our spiritual roots and motivation in our witness, too. I would also like to hear more from the letter writer for his reasons for deciding to stand where he does.
I also keeping remembering a newspaper column a while back that argued an apocalyptic faith – one that believes in the immediacy of Christ – demands social activism. Thy kingdom come, as the prayer goes. And peace on earth. In these little newsletter essays, I’ve tried to steer clear of straight-out theology, but sometimes there’s no way of avoiding it. I really do believe ours is an apocalyptic faith, no matter how we define our individual religious convictions. Maybe the real reason that “politics and religion” are so avoided in polite conversation is because they are so intertwined and so vital, tapping into some of our deepest emotions. How many of our own hot buttons have been pushed already in this brief discourse? Maybe the letter writer also hints that the Republican Party needs more Friends, as witnesses or agents of change. Hey, has anybody noticed I got all the way down to this point without using the word Democrat?
Jnana's Red Barn 