Month: July 2020

Let’s start with a basic premise that the moment a statue is erected, the moment a civic building, a park, or a freeway is named for someone, that very act will somehow offend someone or some group.  There will be some issue, some aspect of a great person’s life upon which, in the hindsight of history and changing cultural perspectives, is slightly or significantly unacceptable.  That’s the core of being human.  I think of the great German composer, Richard Wagner.  He was a titan of music history who’s influence on the 19^th Century cannot be underestimated.  At the same time, the man was wildly antisemitic and didn’t make a secret of it.  In the last century, he was a favorite of the Third Reich. Yet statues and memorials to him are scattered all over the world in opera houses and concert halls.  His music continues to be a staple of opera companies, orchestras, and singers everywhere.  

Much has been said, discussed, photographed, and written in recent times about statues and symbols that hold historical significance, whether good or not.  We’re seeing monuments to leaders of the Confederate States coming down, along with those of Christopher Columbus and other prominent historical figures.  The central issue, in my mind at least, is where their prominence lies or from which it emanates.  Columbus and Andrew Jackson are reviled for their treatment of Native Americans, and to some degree, they should be.  Those are “minuses” on the balance sheet of history for both of them. There is no doubt that General Robert E. Lee was an honorable man and a distinguished soldier. He unfortunately chose to place his allegiance on the wrong side of history.  Like so many others for whom statues were erected or for whom schools, municipal buildings, streets and military installations were named, it is their essential history, their principal legacy, or their place in it, that should rightly determine whether or not they should be honored rather than remembered.  There will be pictures painted of Lee and Grant meeting at Appomattox Court House, just as there will be pictures of Lord Cornwallis’s surrender at Yorktown.  This is a part of history, and while we could find a General John Burgoyne Memorial Park, a Benedict Arnold Middle School, or a Thomas Gage Port Authority in North America, it’s highly unlikely.  Benjamin Franklin is revered, while his son William, a royal governor of New Jersey, languishes in obscurity. Were we still flying the Union Jack and singing “God Save The Queen”, then some of those names, along with statues of King George, might be scattered about our nation.

The other essential question, beyond lasting legacy, is historical custom, and context.  I found it interesting that Jefferson Davis, in his memoirs, seldom refers to the term, “slavery”, but prefers to call it “African Servitude”.  Perhaps in his mind it was a simple extension of the practice of “indenture”.   While it is true that a number of our founding fathers were in fact and practice, slave owners, that doesn’t really define their contributions to our country, or the roles they played in it.  We New Englanders tend to forget that slavery was a part of our culture too, until the practice was outlawed in the late 1700’s.  Do we ignore many historical figures from South, even though many of them insisted on including provisions for slavery into the Constitution?  Does that define the Constitution, or is just one of many facets of a truly impressive governing document, and also one of many facets that has been changed over the centuries as they are no longer functional and appropriate?  Here in New Hampshire, we have one president to claim as our own, Franklin Pierce.  There was discussion of removing his name from prominence here because “he didn’t fight hard enough against slavery”.  His name appears on the University of New Hampshire’s Law School, and discussion is ongoing about removing it.  He appears to have struggled with the slavery issue, being personally opposed to it, but conceding that it was allowed by the constitution, aided and abetted by the fact that he was not one of our more distinguished presidents.  While not of the highest stature or a name that springs to the top of anyone’s “greatest presidents” list, he had a commitment to keeping the Union together in the face if tremendous division and hostility.  His name appears on the University of New Hampshire’s Law School, and discussion is ongoing about removing it.  A faculty resolution recommends a change, but there is a significant amount of sentimental attachment to the name.  Is that what it is in the South too?  A sentimental attachment to “Stonewall” Jackson because of his military skills that are separate and distinct from the side for which he fought, or because of it?  For that matter, is the Confederate flag too a sentimental memory of the Old South?

All historical figures, past, present, and future have been, are, or will be flawed and, in some respects, victims of their time.  The great ones come with their barnacles attached.  It’s important for all of us to weigh those flaws, those barnacles, against the measure of their successes and their greatness.  What really is more important?  Each individual will pass through a test of history and be judged on his or her accomplishments.  Those that speak to a cause behind which we can all rally will indeed have a “leg up” in the memorial consideration debate.  It seems logical, then, that we rightly should continue to honor many of our historical leaders and builders, those whose contributions to our country and our way of life are positive and enduring. George Washington and Thomas Jefferson come to mind. They owned plantations, and owned slaves.  They weren’t defined by them, nor did they fight to preserve the right to own them.  There is clear evidence that George Washington struggled with the institution of slavery, and in his 1799, freed all of his remaining slaves.  

While I seldom find myself agreeing with the voices on the right, I do have a problem with acts of vandalism.  Tearing down statures, defacing public art, vandalizing those for whom our personal respect may be diminished or diminishing I find unacceptable.  Peaceful marches, thoughtful protest, and the careful and deliberate removal of memorials command respect.  Mobs tearing down public property, even where patience wears thin, does nothing to advance the public discourse or reflection on ideas and ideals.  

America lost an icon recently.  A man that preached of equality, of acceptance, of non-violence, of never seeking to go back to the ugliest reminders of the past, but to use and look past those reminders in search of a better society for all of us.  Yes, indeed.  John Lewis is truly a man to be honored on statues, parks, schools, and monuments everywhere.  

I’m not really sure what the Chinese New Year is, but it should be the year of the chipmunk.  Dear Lord, they’re prolific and running rampant this year.  I bought a bunch of bulbs in the spring on line – yes, ok, I’ll admit it – Publishers Clearing House had a sale.  They have probably been so busy delivering plant material that they haven’t been able to drop off my big check yet, but I digress.  I planted the bulbs in a conspicuous place (so I’d remember where they are) and nothing.  Not so much as a tender shoot has punctured the soil.  I blame the chipmunks.  

As I’ve mentioned before, my late grandfather had a philosophy about cars.  He said that if you put gas in the tank and air in the tires, it should run forever.  That’s all a car should need.  I feel that same way about plants.  If I water them regularly and give them fertilizer every so often along with a passing compliment while Mother Nature does her thing with occasional bursts of sunlight and showers, they should reward me with copious blossoms.  Many do, but some give up early, like the irises and poppies I’ve tried two or three times now.  Although the poppies did come back this year – maybe they’re the biennial variety?  I, of course, with my usual calm dignity, take it as a personal affront.  If I’ve taken the time and effort to plant them, their role is pretty straightforward. There are the mystery plants too.  They look very nice the first year, getting my hopes up.  You guys are perennials.  That means, you come back every year.  Don’t give me, “The winter was too cold. My roots froze.”   The landscapers with their blowers in the spring chewed it up my irises, and apparently the physical and emotional scars were just too much for them.  Anyone know a landscape therapist?  Or the ornamental shrubs and trees that I put in, forgetting that they would grow larger.  That cute little Austrian pine I put in to cover the gas lines in back into the house is now more than two stories tall.  It looks great from the second story window, and of course we get a bird’s eye view of the gas connections.

My real confrontation with small animals started several years ago in a former house, and has escalated when a neighbor started feeding baby gophers “because they’re so cute.”  Indeed they are.  Every bit as cute as the baby woodchuck my niece “adopted” years ago.  The cuteness wore off when it chewed and scratched the couch to bits looking for material to build a nest.  Gophers get low marks from me on the “adorable” scale. Not all of nature considers them unattractive – apparently the foxes find them tasty. They destroyed zinnias, several large containers, in fact anything with blossoms.  The neighbor’s cat discouraged them in her yard, so they moved comfortably over to mine.  Next came a plump woodchuck (that’s a groundhog to non-New Englanders), who feasted on my false sunflowers and peonies before moving on to the coreopsis.  I’d go out in the morning to find something missing – a garden bald spot that had opened up overnight.  As a college acquaintance of many years back used to say, “there they were, gone!”  There are a couple of cats in the neighborhood that make some effort to keep the critters at bay.  That’s a help, although there’s one – a tabby – that is attacking the other cats.  I don’t know to whom it belongs, but if it treats its owners like it treats its neighbors, that must be a fun household. 

Her Ladyship and I took a ride over to one of my favorite nurseries about 20 miles away.  It was a delightful day, but the problem is that I want to buy everything.  I’d like to add a rose garden because much of the back lawn isn’t doing well.  I usually get permission to do pretty much whatever I like because we’re down at the end of the street and nobody else can see us.  One of my real “happy” places is over on the New Hampshire coast.  We’d make a yearly pilgrimage, although we didn’t trust doing it this year. It’s part of what was a magnificent estate.  There are rose gardens, a Japanese wooded garden complete with stream and bridges, and a replica of an English estate garden with high hedges standing in for stone walls.  It also has greenhouses filled with exotic plants, and some truly spectacular beds of zinnias and dahlias.  Many of their plantings are been developed right at the gardens, so you won’t see many of them anywhere else. This has given me the inspiration for putting in a small garden of roses.  I’ve put in some sweetheart roses – the little ones, and they’ve done well, so that’s what makes me think that tea roses might prosper there too.  

We’ve gone “organic”, except that we really haven’t because there are no organic folks large enough to take care of our large association. So, what began as an experiment in using less chemical warfare has now devolved into benign neglect. Because of the way our home is situated, there is no “front” lawn – only a grassy area in the back.  So, I’m taking matters into my own hands, poking holes and spreading grass seed and fertilizer. After a week of rain a while back, it’s looking better already.

You’d think that something so intimately connected to the natural world would be trouble-free and continual upward movement.  Not at all true.  Gardening is like the wars between England and France – they seesaw back and forth, each at some moment claiming victory.  There are side skirmishes with the chipmunks and squirrels, who continually feast on spring bulbs.  One chipmunk, that I call Herman, though he doesn’t respond, even came up onto my back deck and dug his way into a couple of containers.  Herman and a couple of buddies (or consorts) have been digging tunnels and uprooting bulbs at a prodigious rate for some time now. I’m convinced he’s networking with the squirrels.  “You guys dig up the big bulbs.  We’ll take care of the little ones.” 

We usually have a small flock of hummingbirds coming by each year.  I’m not sure what the term for plural or group of hummingbirds is.  I’d say “gaggle”, but they don’t make any noise, so that’s probably not it. However, they do come in groupings.  In fact, I was sitting on the deck reading a few weeks back and one flew right up to the container not two feet from me.  We didn’t interact much, although I could tell he or she was pleased and rewarded for their efforts.  

The great gardening adventure goes on with morning watering routines, clipping and deadheading, trips to the nursery, and planning new projects.  It slows down as we head into the hot days of summer, often because money and my energy are running low.  The overall plan is set things up in May and June, maintain in July, and then hit cruise control into August and September – watering and prayer mostly. I can’t get out to do as much as I should in the hot weather. The daughter mentioned that she was bored and needed some activity a few days ago.  Of course, her idea of activity is a run to Starbucks. I suggested that she might mulch the front gardens.  As this is a family blog, with few rating benchmarks, I won’t tell you her response.  Let’s just say, it wasn’t something I can put in print here, along the lines of “I’m thinking . . . . . NO!