Hawthorn Hill Journal by Richard deRosa

Some Early Winter Musings…

Our first real snowfall. A good day to take stock, read, share a few thoughts and, when the snow stops, crank up the snowblower to get at those places our wonderful, always dependable snowplow guy cannot get to. A bit of shoveling here and there as well. I used to tackle our long driveway with my tractor, which has a sizable blower, but have turned that task over to someone younger who can do in minutes what takes me an hour or so in the wake of a moderate snowfall. Comes a time in one’s life to let go of a few things. The letting go part is tough at the time. But over time, the freeing up that letting go enables seems very right, as some quite enjoyable replacements fill the gap.
These days, each of us has a lot to think about. Why is it that warfare maintains such a time-honored place in our collective lives? Doing harm to one another seems genetically embedded. Predation is a necessity for any species. But we seem to go about it as if it were some sort of genetically inviting game to play. I was struck by a puzzle clue yesterday, a quotation attributed to John Steinbeck. The clue: “A symptom of man’s failure as a thinking animal.” WAR is the answer. Waging war seems to be one of our grandest, most valued performances. Not much to brag about there.

There are all kinds of warfare. The ideological and political warfare raging across our country these days is as disturbing as it is, unfortunately, quite predictable. We talk a lot about the virtue of compromise and finding ways of getting along with one another, but when push comes to shove, we hunker down into our own hidebound, self-righteous bunkers. Self-righteousness, as exhibited by all too many of our politicians, does an egregious disservice to the still very valid notion that public service is a noble cause. Not too much nobility abounds in the commons. Reading history, which has been my focus of late, reminds one that all has not been hunky dory ever and that feuding, mean-spiritedness, and downright nastiness have always been part and parcel of American political life. Nothing new under the sun. Never will be—unfortunately.

I want to share a few quotes from John Meacham’s extraordinary biography of Thomas Jefferson, a great American mind, but a man nonetheless not without his human frailties, many of which he was quite aware of, as is the case with each one of us. As I indicated earlier in this essay, letting go is damn hard and all too often we hang on all too tightly to some flaws and character traits best cast to the wind. Being human is tough. At one point, Meacham quotes Benjamin Rush, a friend of Jefferson who is responding to some of Jefferson’s earlier thoughts on politics, faction and political parties in general. Rush writes: “Many are the evils of a political life, but none so great as the dissolution of friendship, and the implacable hatred which often takes their place.” One could quote endlessly from an infinity of texts that opine on the worrisome aspects of politics, faction and, ultimately, the ages-old problems that arise from deeply held assumptions about human life and the deeply held beliefs and behaviors that characterize them. In a brief observation of the perils of party and politics, Jefferson warns that “politics and party hatreds destroy the happiness of every being here.” Hatreds abound about the land unabashedly. Are things worse now than ever before? I think so. Not because human beings are any different or because politics and its accompanying shenanigans are all that different. The amplification of the inhumanities showered upon one another are due primarily to social media. It is every coward’s go-to bullhorn.

Now, of course, we must contend with AI. Another episode of humankind’s capacity to morph every potentially useful tool into a kind of Jekyll and Hyde monster. Funny thing is, I still believe that our better angels, and it may take a while, will rescue us. No other choice but to hope.
Meanwhile, a beautiful white blanket mantles our hillside. Goldfinches are scarfing up all the sunflower seed and thistle seed they can eat. A pair of ravens, sable black against the snow, sits quietly together a bit down from the upper garden. Like most families, we have our worries and joys. One hopes that 2024 might just be the year we turn the corner on the inhumanities we have heaped upon one another. And I turn 80!

Dick deRosa’s Hawthorn Hill essays have appeared in “The Freeman’s Journal” since 1998. A collection, “Hawthorn Hill Journal: Selected Essays,” was published in 2012. He is a retired English teacher.