Why I Love Being A Priest

The Most Beautiful Bird In America?
 

That time of year is upon us again. Friday morning, Chuck and I embarked with Fat Leo the Labrador on our first shoot of the season at Federal Valley Pheasant Farm, outside Amesville, Ohio.  We went five for five, and unfortunately, there was no one there to witness the feat.  Since everyone would naturally assume that Chuck and I would lie for each other in all things sporting, the wonderful claim falls into the same category as a golfing hole in one scored when one is playing alone.  But it was a good day, and Leo settled in pretty fast and gave yoeman's service on the lanes.

Todd Frazier's Rally Starting Home Run

On Thursday, I traveled to the Queen City to see the Reds close their last home stand of the year against the Brewers.  With two down in the bottom of the ninth, the Reds rallied to tie and then win the game.  The game had all the excitement of one of those devotional movie closings when the good guys come from behind to win, and it was great to be there in the flesh with my friends from St. John's to experience the jubilatioin of seeing the team I followed in my youth carry the day.

But the weekend was not all play.  I married a young couple from our parish and felt the joy of their decision to begin their life with each other in Christ.  I gave last rites to a dear friend, really more a sister, who is a longtime member of our parish.  I was priviledged to baptize a little boy whose father has just returned from an active duty deployment with the Ohio Army National Guard.  I had the opportunity to preach twice on our responsibilities as a parish to the children and the new Christians in our midst, and to lead a discussion on the difficult passages of the Bible and how sometimes it is hard to understand how God's character and person is revealed in those passages.  Later in the afternoon I was priviledged to bless a basset, three westies, a springer, a yorkie, a rat terrier, and a beagle at our annual animal blessing.  Along the way I had the opportunity to help a couple of folks with very real physical needs and to lend a listening ear to a handful more.  Oh yes, I also renewed a couple of old friendships and welcomed two families who spend half of the year somewhere else back to St. John's for County Fair week. 

Our Little Girls

But of all the happy and inspiring times of the weekend, the one which perhaps moved me the most was being able to spend time with my grand-daughters.  We laughed and played and fed the chickens and read books and just loved each other.  It is good to have them back in Ohio again.

Surely, life is a mixture of the wonderful and the difficult, of the inspiring and the discouraging, but I am so very thankful that God has immersed me in it as a Priest of His Church.  Someone asked me recently what I would be doing if I was not the priest at St. John's.  I really couldn't give them an answer, because I couldn't imagine doing anything else.  God has blessed me so richly in this place, and for that I am grateful.

Memories of My Dad

Federal's traditional purple 16 gague shot shell

Dad died a few years ago, and occasionally something reminds me of how much I miss him.  Today it was taking to the field with some friends for the first day of dove season.  I shot pretty well, always keeping in mind the truism from "Downton Abbey" that a shooter always wonders which is worse, "the sorrow at killing the bird, or the humiliation when you miss."  I had my fair share of both today, but the real story of the day was about remembering Dad.  He always shot 16 gauge.  In the old black powder days it was the perfect round ballistically.  When silver powder came along with its multitude of load possibilities, the "16" waned in popularity here in the US, although I'm told it remains very popular in Europe.  But I've always stuck with it because that's what Dad used. 

Last week, in preparation for the hunt, I stopped by Gander Mountain and picked up a few boxes of Federal shot shells in #8, the correct size for the small and elusive rockets that are called doves.  When I got to the peg today and opened the box to chamber my first two shots, I realized that the hulls on Federal 16's were still purple plastic.  My mind raced immediately back to the purple shells that were always stacked neatly in the bottom of the gun closet in Parker where I grew up.  It was almost like Dad was there with me.

My Dad: May he rest in peace

It's funny, the things that can trigger a memory.   For me is is usually something small and unexpected, like a purple hulled shotgun shell.  I'm glad it works like that.  I find great comfort in remembering what has gone before me, and in looking forward to what is to come.

Harvest Time at Briarwood

The temperature has dipped into the high fifties over the last few nights, and fall is just around the corner.  I don't usually work on Sundays after Church, but the peaches had to be picked today.  Rebecca baked fresh shortcake this afternoon from scratch, and we had a few of the peaches on the same for supper tonight.  Tomorrow, she will make more pies for the freezer.  Tomorrow morning, I will be picking Concord grapes.  They are at their peak now, and the scent is wonderful as we walk by the small vineyard on the way to the barn.  Saturday was tomatoes again, and I believe Rebecca put up another 21 pints of maranara sauce.  We will soon have enough to supply both ourselves and Tristan for the entire winter and through until next year's harvest is ready to process.  Apples and shell beans are just around the corner.

During the course of the drought this summer, an intermittent spring which had been dormant for several years reappeared just below the great apple tree below the summer kitchen.  After the corn is cut, when the deer move back into the woods, it should provide the perfect spot for hunting.  If all goes well, by thanksgiving we should have whitetail deer in the freezer.  I'm trying a new type of broadhead this year on the crossbow bolts www.ragebroadheads.com which is supposed to cut a much larger wound channel and produce a more humane kill.  Chuck and I are already making plans to shoot pheasants over Fat Leo the Labrador.  It would be nice to put ten or fifteen birds in the freezer this year for those special occasion meals.  The next time Tristan comes home from school, we have plans to dam the springs at the south end of the property in two locations, which should give us a significantly increased capacity for holding game locally.

The Roses this year have been beautiful, and seem to be holding their blooms well as the weather cools.  The Wisteria must have doubled or tripled in size on the arbors, and next year we have every reason to expect our first blooms.  The Russian Mammoth Sunflowers are in all of their glory, and should soon provide adequate forage for our many feathered friends.  It has been a good year in the garden, but we have had to water much to maintain it all.  The fall peas and spinach are started in pots and flats and will soon be ready for transplanting into the garden.  After the next paycheck, I plan to order commercial cold frames to install inside the greenhouse.  We should have cold weather crops well into January, and then it will be time to start tomatoes and peppers  and cabbage again for next year's harvest. 

My one disappointment this year was the hydrophonics system that I used to try and extend the lettuce and spinach season into July.  The spinach fared poorly, and although the lettuce seemed to start well, the heat proved to be too much, even when the direct afternoon sun was blocked.  Next year will see the experiment repeated with a bit of tweaking.  Perhaps it will go better the second time around.

It is good to live in this place and to experience the rolling of the seasons.  They are so predictable, and yet each is so unique, and they do bring joy to my heart.