It is the last day of August and I have about seven minutes before I have to go out to start the day (it's dark at 6:15 now). Often, August is the month that has drama and tears and stress and people quitting and people feeling burnt out and Ellen and I always said that you should never make any big decisions. While we have had all the same amount of work and tomatoes to cope with, we have not had any of that other trauma and drama. Things are going pretty well, no one is feeling too overworked and underappreciated and the trains are still running on time. I just wanted to note this because our crew is down to its fall nubbins and they picked 150 ponies of tomatoes in the last two days (100 of those in the all-day rain because they wanted to) and people are still singing in the bean patch.
Meanwhile, there is plenty of non-farm stuff to cope with. Carrie has had a particularly trying month, with a suicide in her family and a wife who is always having to travel for work, leaving Carrie in charge of the indomitable Zoey. Stephen and Julia are learning to manage life with a six week old who has nearly doubled in size and worldliness since she appeared. We have had a steady stream of illnesses moving through the crew (unrelated to work, but affecting their availability).
But the work keeps happening and the tomatoes keep coming and the fields look pretty beautiful and we are in the process of merging two farms and farm systems, taking our farmer friend Zach into our fold, which is a huge undertaking and flies in the face of the past wisdom of not making any big decisions on August.
And that is the seven minute update. We are at the peak of my personal Long Day season (12 hours outside, then desk), but this means the hours will get shorter from now on.
Thursday, August 31, 2017
Saturday, August 19, 2017
It's August, Time for Another Wedding
For a few hours, I had a super power. I had the authority once again to marry two people in the state of Virginia. I used my power for good -- it's the third time I have performed a real wedding. Two other times I have presided over a ceremony that followed the courthouse wedding. This side career was not my idea, but it keeps on evolving.
This one was different because it is the first time I have brought my Jewish self to the task. I think that is partly why they asked me to do it -- the groom was raised in Cleveland in a Jewish family, had a Bar Mitzvah and kind of slid away from regular observance as an adult. The bride was raised Catholic but was more interested in keeping the Jewish traditions.
I didn't give myself much time to think about it -- like a real officiant, I started writing last night and started thinking through the issues this morning -- but I am quite conscious of my clergy friends and their feelings about people without a formal education/title taking on roles that are traditionally reserved for those with training.
But the state of Virginia has a special and very precise program for "one time civil celebrants." You have to apply to the judge and I don't know what kind of checking he does, but eventually you get a letter saying you are allowed to marry these people on this specific date, and only those people on only that date. Then you go to the county courthouse for an appointment with the clerk at 8:30 on a Thursday morning (not as simple as it sounds -- I had to be in the flowers at 6 AM, just as it was light enough to see, so I could pick for a soggy hour and a half before stripping off my soaked clothes and going to town..and the hardest part was walking the long walk from the parking garage uphill to the massive courthouse. It was a hot and steamy day and I don't walk on pavement very often.).
The clerk is exacting and direct. She explains all about the bureaucratic requirements, and the five celebrants practice filling out a marriage license. No mistakes, black ink only, super tidy. There are no rules about what anyone says at the wedding, the only rule is that you fill out the form and get it back within five business days or your forfeit the $500 bond. The $500 bond ensures that the records will be proper -- there is a couple who thought they were married for 20 years before they went to get a divorce, only to discover that their celebrant had never filed the proper papers. Five years later, they are still in court. That's the story that supports this practice.
I had only met with the bride and groom once about two months ago to discuss everything, and last night we had a second meeting during their pre-wedding pizza party. I learned enough to write something coherent, but I still didn't know how Jewish they wanted to be. I didn't know how Jewish I wanted to be, for that matter.
In the end, I looked through some of my books, read about weddings to see what makes it a real Jewish wedding, found some blessings that met their needs (secular and modern, without direct references to the King of the Universe) and wrote my part.
It was delightful to have no other job. I didn't have to cook or clean up or direct people or carry a table or anything. I just stood under the chuppah and watched those beautiful young people and their little boys come down the aisle. The boys were like puppies, falling all over themselves -- dressed in white jackets, dress shirt and ties, shorts and bare feet.
I introduced myself as a Jewish adult, not a rabbi, and the wedding was as Jewish as I felt allowed to make it. I did not invoke the Laws of Moses and Israel. I did not talk about God. I spoke about the beauty of the diversity of humanity, etc. I felt that I stayed within the bounds of what I am competent to do, and that it would have been very hard for them to find a rabbi for this, and that maybe there is a chance that they will have a more Jewish home because of this day. The mother of the groom was surprised and happy -- she had no idea that her son would want a Jewish wedding and he never gave her a hint about it. But of course there had been no plan, it all came about in the last day. The mother read the Priestly Benediction and the Zochreinu -- she had come prepared to do her best to keep her traditions alive.
The whole event was lovely and low-key, with a crowd-sourced meal (high quality food cooked by friends), the air was amazingly comfortable for mid-August, and everyone looked beautiful. Just how a wedding should be. And it was four minutes from home, which is as good as it gets.
This one was different because it is the first time I have brought my Jewish self to the task. I think that is partly why they asked me to do it -- the groom was raised in Cleveland in a Jewish family, had a Bar Mitzvah and kind of slid away from regular observance as an adult. The bride was raised Catholic but was more interested in keeping the Jewish traditions.
I didn't give myself much time to think about it -- like a real officiant, I started writing last night and started thinking through the issues this morning -- but I am quite conscious of my clergy friends and their feelings about people without a formal education/title taking on roles that are traditionally reserved for those with training.
But the state of Virginia has a special and very precise program for "one time civil celebrants." You have to apply to the judge and I don't know what kind of checking he does, but eventually you get a letter saying you are allowed to marry these people on this specific date, and only those people on only that date. Then you go to the county courthouse for an appointment with the clerk at 8:30 on a Thursday morning (not as simple as it sounds -- I had to be in the flowers at 6 AM, just as it was light enough to see, so I could pick for a soggy hour and a half before stripping off my soaked clothes and going to town..and the hardest part was walking the long walk from the parking garage uphill to the massive courthouse. It was a hot and steamy day and I don't walk on pavement very often.).
The clerk is exacting and direct. She explains all about the bureaucratic requirements, and the five celebrants practice filling out a marriage license. No mistakes, black ink only, super tidy. There are no rules about what anyone says at the wedding, the only rule is that you fill out the form and get it back within five business days or your forfeit the $500 bond. The $500 bond ensures that the records will be proper -- there is a couple who thought they were married for 20 years before they went to get a divorce, only to discover that their celebrant had never filed the proper papers. Five years later, they are still in court. That's the story that supports this practice.
I had only met with the bride and groom once about two months ago to discuss everything, and last night we had a second meeting during their pre-wedding pizza party. I learned enough to write something coherent, but I still didn't know how Jewish they wanted to be. I didn't know how Jewish I wanted to be, for that matter.
In the end, I looked through some of my books, read about weddings to see what makes it a real Jewish wedding, found some blessings that met their needs (secular and modern, without direct references to the King of the Universe) and wrote my part.
It was delightful to have no other job. I didn't have to cook or clean up or direct people or carry a table or anything. I just stood under the chuppah and watched those beautiful young people and their little boys come down the aisle. The boys were like puppies, falling all over themselves -- dressed in white jackets, dress shirt and ties, shorts and bare feet.
I introduced myself as a Jewish adult, not a rabbi, and the wedding was as Jewish as I felt allowed to make it. I did not invoke the Laws of Moses and Israel. I did not talk about God. I spoke about the beauty of the diversity of humanity, etc. I felt that I stayed within the bounds of what I am competent to do, and that it would have been very hard for them to find a rabbi for this, and that maybe there is a chance that they will have a more Jewish home because of this day. The mother of the groom was surprised and happy -- she had no idea that her son would want a Jewish wedding and he never gave her a hint about it. But of course there had been no plan, it all came about in the last day. The mother read the Priestly Benediction and the Zochreinu -- she had come prepared to do her best to keep her traditions alive.
The whole event was lovely and low-key, with a crowd-sourced meal (high quality food cooked by friends), the air was amazingly comfortable for mid-August, and everyone looked beautiful. Just how a wedding should be. And it was four minutes from home, which is as good as it gets.
Friday, August 11, 2017
Alice Horn
Last year, on Memorial Day, we went to a family gathering in New Jersey -- the last Bar Mitzvah of this generation. These are relatives on Jon's mother's side of the family and they have a long tradition of getting together for picnics and parties, in addition to the life cycle celebrations that are much grander. Jon's mother came from Boston with Dena, Jon's uncle Peter came from Columbus, it was a real reunion. Jon's aunt Alice was there too (the grandmother of the Bar Mitzvah boy), although she was much less there than anyone would have wished.
I can't remember the details, but Alice was diagnosed a few years ago with a degenerative neurological condition -- something in her frontal lobe. Dire and incurable. She was young and healthy enough to stay at home with her husband and various caregivers, so she quietly went into a decline. She had been an artist and a teacher, and had become an art teacher for children with special needs. Their cozy house was filled with her bright and colorful paintings. By last May, she had lost her capacity to speak but she was still present. She knew her family and she made it clear she wanted to be near them, especially her two sons and her two grandsons. She enjoyed eating, which made me happy.
Alice had been an observant Jew for her whole life, and even with her compromised brain the rituals seemed familiar and comfortable to her. She had a role in the Torah service that day, and her eyes were bright. While it would have been wonderful to have her there as the gracious and attentive hostess and grandmother she once was, it felt so lucky to have her there.
A year later, Alice's brain was worse, and she couldn't even eat anymore. The family considered their options and David, her husband of 57 years, decided to bring her back home after a hospital stay, and to continue to give her nutrients. She stayed alive longer than anyone expected, but she was no longer in charge of her destiny, as she had been for her whole married life. We all waited to hear that she was nearing her last days, expecting the news any time.
Weeks passed, then months. Finally the doctors told her husband that she might only live for a few more days, or perhaps even just one more day. Alice's son in Israel started the long trip home, praying that she would wait until he got back before she died. She died early on Wednesday, they planned the funeral for Thursday. Her son arrived at dawn on Thursday, heartbroken that he had missed the chance to say goodbye.
As we have seen so many times before, a skilled group organized everything, invisibly. The local son and his wife undoubtedly had everything to do with the planning and execution of all that had to happen within a very short amount of time. The rabbi who led the service is so familiar to us, he is the rabbi who presided over the Bar Mitzvahs. The cantor had known Alice and David for 25 years, and he chanted the 22 verses about the "woman of valor" with incredible, gorgeous voice control (so quietly and clearly, so hard to do).
Jewish funerals are rather free-form, without a set structure. So they are often heart-wrenchingly full of stories told by family and friends. The first speaker was a niece who had been very close to her aunt, and she was eloquent and tearful. Second was Alice's twin sister who spoke without notes, briefly and to the point -- her husband followed up with some comments of his own, making very warm mention of his long relationship with David. The last to speak was the youngest son, just off the plane. He said that as he tried to think of what he would say, he had two main thoughts: first that he prayed fervently that someone would get up at the funeral and speak better than he could (and he thanked his cousin profusely for being that person) and the second was that this would be the first time he had ever arrived home without his mother there. The light was out.now and that was impossible to comprehend. She had been a devoted mother, always weeping when he left home to go back to his international adventures. Without notes, he fully expressed his sense of loss and his gratitude to all those who had taken care of everything so well.
The little sanctuary was fuller than I would have expected, given Alice's long retreat from daily life. I wished someone had spoken about her life as a teacher and an artist. We got a full picture of her as a wife and mother and sister and aunt and grandmother -- the powerful, loving matriarch who presided over her family and home. No one mentioned how tiny she was, something I always noticed as I towered over her during a welcome or farewell hug.
It surprised me how very sad everyone was. I would have thought they would have gone through so much grief already, having lost the real Alice. But no, this was new grief, knowing they wouldn't see her anymore. Having her in the room for all those months was comforting, I guess, even though it was also tragic.
It is always traumatic to throw dirt onto the top of the coffin. That sound just breaks hearts. But after a while, the box gets covered and the sound is softer and it is less devastating. At Leon's and my own father's burial, we filled the entire grave, finishing the job. But that is not standard behavior. So we covered the top of Alice's plain pine box with a layer of clumpy clay and we left her there. This was really hard for her small family. They wept. It is a family who can cry, and that reassures me.
There was a huge amount of food at the house, and many comfortable places to sit and talk and look at photos. The afternoon slid by. We spent a good amount of time talking about Broadway shows with a lively woman whose name I did not catch. She goes to a lot of shows.
Jon and I left before the evening service, heading back home. The trip was easy and we rolled in at 10 PM. We had never doubted that we would go, when the time came, and it was nice that it was so easy to extricate ourselves at a moment's notice during the most busy time of year. Life went on at the farm, smoothly, while we took the day to be with family. It was a good day, and Alice will be remembered by everyone who loved her. As the rabbi reminded them, death ends a life but it doesn't end a relationship. How well we know that.
I can't remember the details, but Alice was diagnosed a few years ago with a degenerative neurological condition -- something in her frontal lobe. Dire and incurable. She was young and healthy enough to stay at home with her husband and various caregivers, so she quietly went into a decline. She had been an artist and a teacher, and had become an art teacher for children with special needs. Their cozy house was filled with her bright and colorful paintings. By last May, she had lost her capacity to speak but she was still present. She knew her family and she made it clear she wanted to be near them, especially her two sons and her two grandsons. She enjoyed eating, which made me happy.
Alice had been an observant Jew for her whole life, and even with her compromised brain the rituals seemed familiar and comfortable to her. She had a role in the Torah service that day, and her eyes were bright. While it would have been wonderful to have her there as the gracious and attentive hostess and grandmother she once was, it felt so lucky to have her there.
A year later, Alice's brain was worse, and she couldn't even eat anymore. The family considered their options and David, her husband of 57 years, decided to bring her back home after a hospital stay, and to continue to give her nutrients. She stayed alive longer than anyone expected, but she was no longer in charge of her destiny, as she had been for her whole married life. We all waited to hear that she was nearing her last days, expecting the news any time.
Weeks passed, then months. Finally the doctors told her husband that she might only live for a few more days, or perhaps even just one more day. Alice's son in Israel started the long trip home, praying that she would wait until he got back before she died. She died early on Wednesday, they planned the funeral for Thursday. Her son arrived at dawn on Thursday, heartbroken that he had missed the chance to say goodbye.
As we have seen so many times before, a skilled group organized everything, invisibly. The local son and his wife undoubtedly had everything to do with the planning and execution of all that had to happen within a very short amount of time. The rabbi who led the service is so familiar to us, he is the rabbi who presided over the Bar Mitzvahs. The cantor had known Alice and David for 25 years, and he chanted the 22 verses about the "woman of valor" with incredible, gorgeous voice control (so quietly and clearly, so hard to do).
Jewish funerals are rather free-form, without a set structure. So they are often heart-wrenchingly full of stories told by family and friends. The first speaker was a niece who had been very close to her aunt, and she was eloquent and tearful. Second was Alice's twin sister who spoke without notes, briefly and to the point -- her husband followed up with some comments of his own, making very warm mention of his long relationship with David. The last to speak was the youngest son, just off the plane. He said that as he tried to think of what he would say, he had two main thoughts: first that he prayed fervently that someone would get up at the funeral and speak better than he could (and he thanked his cousin profusely for being that person) and the second was that this would be the first time he had ever arrived home without his mother there. The light was out.now and that was impossible to comprehend. She had been a devoted mother, always weeping when he left home to go back to his international adventures. Without notes, he fully expressed his sense of loss and his gratitude to all those who had taken care of everything so well.
The little sanctuary was fuller than I would have expected, given Alice's long retreat from daily life. I wished someone had spoken about her life as a teacher and an artist. We got a full picture of her as a wife and mother and sister and aunt and grandmother -- the powerful, loving matriarch who presided over her family and home. No one mentioned how tiny she was, something I always noticed as I towered over her during a welcome or farewell hug.
It surprised me how very sad everyone was. I would have thought they would have gone through so much grief already, having lost the real Alice. But no, this was new grief, knowing they wouldn't see her anymore. Having her in the room for all those months was comforting, I guess, even though it was also tragic.
It is always traumatic to throw dirt onto the top of the coffin. That sound just breaks hearts. But after a while, the box gets covered and the sound is softer and it is less devastating. At Leon's and my own father's burial, we filled the entire grave, finishing the job. But that is not standard behavior. So we covered the top of Alice's plain pine box with a layer of clumpy clay and we left her there. This was really hard for her small family. They wept. It is a family who can cry, and that reassures me.
There was a huge amount of food at the house, and many comfortable places to sit and talk and look at photos. The afternoon slid by. We spent a good amount of time talking about Broadway shows with a lively woman whose name I did not catch. She goes to a lot of shows.
Jon and I left before the evening service, heading back home. The trip was easy and we rolled in at 10 PM. We had never doubted that we would go, when the time came, and it was nice that it was so easy to extricate ourselves at a moment's notice during the most busy time of year. Life went on at the farm, smoothly, while we took the day to be with family. It was a good day, and Alice will be remembered by everyone who loved her. As the rabbi reminded them, death ends a life but it doesn't end a relationship. How well we know that.
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