Oh, to be proud that we do God's work!

My friend Tom writes a blog on living your faith in the workplace. Recently, he wrote how the two presumptive presidential candidates are openly discussing their religious beliefs making it easier for us to do the same. (Read his thoughts here).

I recalled his comments yesterday while listening to a radio interview with a woman who was promoting a fundraising event for a non-profit agency that matches seniors with volunteer opportunities here in Southern Minnesota. During the interview, the host mentioed that her agency was sponsored by Catholic Charities, the largest private social services network in the nation.

Immediately, the woman discounted the connection, making sure to clarify that the program she was touting was not affiliated with any religious institution or denomination. Her tone turned from one bursting with enthusiasm to one of flat out denial. I don't recall her exact words, but the gist of it can be summarized like this: Though we are affilliated with Catholic Charities sort of...you can still support us because we're not "catholic"... .

Clearly, she was uncomfortable with the connection her work had to any "religious" institution; I believe she assumed the show's listeners would be too. I found her backpedaling to be more damaging to her program's cause than an administrative affiliation to any religious organization could ever be.

I was also saddened that in her view, the only valid support for a community-based service agency was support that came unaffiliated with God. She apparantly has yet to discover that for many, many Americans, including the two running for President, that God can't be partitioned off from our work, whether it be for income or for the betterment of the community.

Sheep-ish behavior...

At the Blue Earth County Fair last weekend, I saw a 4H teen walking her ewe through the grounds, nothing between them but a thin leather strap. The two obviously shared a trust I've yet to engender in the flock that has been chomping the grass west of the vineyard.

So, just how does one go about becoming friends with sheep? Because the LeSueur Ten, as I've come to call them as if they were a group of roving bandits, still won't allow me within a car's length of their woolly hides. I thought sheep were supposed to follow the shepherd's call; that's what they told me in church, anyway.

I have learned one thing about these ovines -- they are interested in remaining part of a collection. One slipped through the fence tonight and right away looked for a way back into the pasture. When I noticed one was loose I knew one thing for certain. I should NOT walk toward it. To be honest, beyond that I didn't have a plan for how to get the bad girl back with her sisters. Fortunately, the gap in the twisted wire, where I assume she slipped out, presented itself as a way back in.

I watched her rejoin the flock then performed a quick rigging to plug the gap. Then I yelled at them all for the one's transgression.

By this point, I started to miss farm dog. He loves to go for walks on a leash.

Distinguishing a hobo from a tramp...

I met a hobo today. Actually, I met him in May and I've seen him every couple of days since. It was just that today, I learned he was a hobo.

My hobo friend, his name is John, told me the word hobo was borne out of the post-civil war era. When the war ended, soldiers were released and left to their own devices. Many picked up a hoe and traveled the rails, from farm to farm, offering to work for a meal and a small stipend.

That desire to work for his keep elevated the hobo -- or "hoe boy" -- from his counterpart, the tramp, who was considered too lazy to work.

One hundred miles to the south this weekend, Britt, Iowa, hosts the National Hobo Convention. Hobos from around the country gather with other hobos, as if returning to a family homestead. John will be there. He promises to bring me a brochure so I can learn more about hobos and the hobo lifestyle.

Finding pride in caretaking...

I am the caretaker of what is believed (by me) to be the most beautiful vineyard in Blue Earth County. I know what you are thinking and it’s true. There are others.

As caretaker (or vineyard manager if I’m feeling uppity), I spend a good deal of time toiling along the rows taking care of putsy chores like weeding, watering, tying, and now, pruning. Pruning is a new chore, brought on by lots of summer heat, lots of sunshine, rain sufficient enough for me to shelve my tank sprayer, and fertile soil that also has pushed the corn across the road to towering heights.

My vines have gotten unwieldy, dangerously, snapping off in the wind unwieldy, so I must prune, especially now that I know which leaves contribute to the strength and vigor of their developing trunks, and which leaves detract from the process. With these hybrids that trace their roots to vitis riparia, all leaves are not created equal!

Pruning is not physically taxing but it requires a gentle touch, patience, flexibility, and the ability to forward think the trellising pattern to protect the most likely candidate for the cordon. When I prune, I also allow for the possibility of winter kill and wind damage; the latter having shown itself too frequently this past week. Pruning suits a contemplative nature, which I’ve developed as I’ve walked the rows, grateful for my iPod and whatever breeze God sends my way.

By now, you can detect that my vines and I have developed a relationship. They are like children to me; I am attending to them (even when the dew point is 73) so that they will grow strong and bear fruit for decades. This is my vineyard.

And then, I find a horn worm. Dear readers, the horn worm is without doubt the ugliest creature on God’s green earth. I found two of them in the vineyard yesterday and, with lower dew points, found them to be a curiosity. (One ended up in the compost heap and the other was recycled back into the food chain thanks to the chickens.) But tonight, with sweat rolling off my nose, I was less than pleased to find this interloper clinging to my Edelweiss plant.

My scouting guide for Grape IPM tells me the horn worm likes new vineyards. Well, not in my vineyard, I say as I pull him from the leaf. It’s about then that the pest spews green slime on my gloved finger. That’s when his removal from my vineyard ceases to be a business transaction. Now it’s personal. And it’s a long walk to the chicken coop.

I threw the interloper onto the dirt near where, conveniently, a rock the size of a softball sat. I’ll end the story here because you get the picture. (If not, refer to the Kabul soccer game scene in “The Kite Runner.”)

And thus the sun sets on another day in the vineyard. Tomorrow, there will be more ties, more cuts, more weeds to pull, and God willing, a wind out of the northwest.

[Postscript: I used to read the New Yorker and Harpers magazines for pleasure. Now I read the Pocket Guide for Grape IPM Scouting.]

An allegory to go with your Monday coffee...

Here's a story that's too good to keep to myself. It was shared by a wise friend and I offer it to you as my gift to your Monday...

A group of alumni, highly established in their careers, got together to visit their old university professor. Conversation soon turned into complaints about stress in work and life.

Offering his guests coffee, the professor went into the kitchen and returned with a large pot of coffee and an assortment of cups -- porcelain, plastic, glass, crystal, some plain looking, some expensive, some exquisite. The professor told his guests to help themselves to coffee.

When all the former students had a cup of coffee in hand, the professor said: "If you noticed, all the nice-looking, expensive cups were taken up, leaving behind the plain and cheap ones. While it is normal for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is the source of your problems and stress.

"Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the coffee. In most cases, it is just more expensive and in some cases even hides what we drink.

"What all of you really wanted was coffee, not the cup, but you consciously went for the best cups, and then you began eyeing each other's cups.

"Now consider this: Life is the coffee; the jobs, money and position in society are the cups. They are just tools to hold and contain Life, and the type of cup we have does not define, nor change, the quality of the Life we live. Sometimes, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee God has provided us."

I was attracted to this little allegory because it sums up an attitude I strive for every day: The happiest people don't have the best of everything. They just make the best of everything.