Beware the Ides of March

Since 44 B.C., March 15 has been a day associated with doom. It is reputed to be the day Julius Caesar met an untimely demise. Centuries later, William Shakespeare immortalized the mid-point of March in his play about the Roman Emperor, warning "beware the Ides of March." Ever since, the superstitious among us have avoided entering into important covenants on this day.

Though others might approach the Ides of March warily, I leapt with optimism and sunk seeds into seed starter -- a clear display of optimism one full week before Spring harkens its triumphant return. Then I took a nap. There's a lot of work to be done on the farm this Spring, after all. I must be well rested.

You may have noticed a slip in my posting activity of late. It's been a long winter, folks. Since late February, only complaints about the cold resided in my brain, and I wanted to spare you the whining.

Then, my camera broke and I had to send it in for warranty work; its return is hinged on the arrival of parts, from Japan I presume. Without my camera, I feel as if my vision has diminished.

Finally, I've been totally absorbed in the story of "ONE PLACE." It's a video I've been on deadline to finish by the end of this month, when my colleague departs for Africa for roughly six months. I've put so many hours of thought into this project that I see each frame in my sleep and its soundtrack is permanently burned into my memory. I hope to share it with you all at some point.

But with the promise of Spring comes a renewed commitment to the blog. Thus, today comes a new look, updated for the season. Come back soon.

And she's down!

Opening up our view to the lake

Dynamite would have been sexier, to be sure. But bringing this old eyesore down the old fashioned way, through dis-assembly, is suiting us just fine. We're not sure when the hay barn was built, but it's been teetering on the edge of the embankment leading to the water since we moved in. Years of erosion have pushed the concrete footings on the lake-side of the structure out from under the wall. The giant slabs are in pieces halfway down the hill. A storm last spring sent several panels of the steel siding flying across the yard. What's more, a tree fell onto the far wall, causing further damage. The roof should be sitting on the snow by week's end and the whole structure will be an ugly memory by the equinox.

Removing the clutter of life brings perspective

Emptiness. To a writer, it’s a starting point. It’s the blank page waiting to be filled with word-play; it’s a canvas on which to throw down thoughts of varied color and swirl them, one into another, to see new thoughts emerge.

To a farmer, emptiness is winter. It’s a bare field, a respite from long days spent cultivating, planting, weed-pulling, and harvest. It’s a long pause, a horticultural em-dash.

Emptiness. It surrounds me. It stares me down. It washes over me, this emptiness. It is to be neither feared nor avoided.

On a day whose exterior resembles the past one hundred in its starkness and chill, emptiness is a welcomed friend. The emptiness that stretches in every direction from the old farmhouse begs me to take stock of life, to contemplate a new purpose, to open myself to thoughts that could never find their way to my consciousness on warmer, fuller days. To stare at an unbroken horizon for hours is to embrace emptiness, to answer the call to contemplation, to make room for an active spirit to work within me. To pray.

On this, the beginning of the fifth week of Lent, I wonder at the incredible love God offers mankind in the person of Jesus, who suffered and died so that we all may transcend our humanness and conquer the horror of death, the way Lazarus did in today’s Gospel reading. Only in emptiness is there room enough to spread out the drama of today’s scriptural account, to hear the dialogue and to examine the complexity of the protagonist.

I did this today and two questions emerged. First, “If Jesus will raise up the ‘one he loves,’ what will he do for me?” The answer came easily, like snow in March: Anything.

My second question was more difficult: “If Jesus will do anything for me, what am I willing to do for Him?” In order to answer this question, I need emptiness. I need emptiness to surround me, to wash over me, to stare me down. I need a blank page to throw down my thoughts like watercolors, to mix them to see what new ideas emerge. I need to make room for an active spirit to work within me. I need to pray.