Over the past several weeks, as we have been busy attending to pre-winter chores in our gardens, one word has repeatedly come to mind: waste. We try to minimize our waste stream up here on the hill. But I was thinking of how wasteful we have become in our relations with one another.…
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I am often asked how things are going up here on the hill. My usual answer is: pretty well. I do not get to the village often. And when I do it is not rare, when bumping into a friend, to have the occasion referred to as a “sighting.”…
Will the center hold? Good question. Ever since Yeats posed that question in his great poem, “The Second Coming,” I have felt that, yes, despite there being so many reasons for pessimism, the argument in favor of optimism held greater sway. That is still the only reasonable alternative. The competing choice leads down too dark a road to contemplate. Stephen Pinker argues that we have the intellectual and technological skills we need to solve even the most urgent problems that…
Hawthorn Hill Journal by Richard deRosa Getting Back to Home Soil Several days ago, a friend sent a picture of the hill from our deck. Prominent in the foreground is our vegetable garden. Despite its dormant state, it awakened many memories and hopes for the future. It also reminded me of how anxious I am to be home and get my hands into the very rich soil that I have nourished with organic materials so diligently over the years. Curious,…
Desert Dispatch by Richard deRosa Day at the Rodeo Features Impressive Skills, Shared Sense of Pride A while ago, we spent the day at the annual Tucson rodeo. Quite a day; fascinating from many perspectives. How can one not come away in awe of 4-6 year-old “mutton busters” holding on for dear life astride a bucking sheep while being dragged hundreds of feet across the arena dirt. And then, standing tall while waving to the adoring crowd. Gotta start young…
Desert Dispatch by Richard deRosa Hiking Offers Temporary Distractionfrom the Difficulties of Today While hiking the last few days, we have seen the first blush of spring blooms, aided by more rain in these parts than we have ever experienced at this time of year. Fairy dusters, lovely pale pink flowers, are popping up everywhere along the trails we hike. Brittlebush, whose bright yellow blooms are a staple of the desert landscape, are also getting into high gear. A birding…
Hawthorn Hill by Richard DeRosa Forget the Beltway, Rethink Stale Assumptions, Consider Course Alterations My January 12 essay ended with these words: “Forget the Beltway.” Given the embarrassing shenanigans of the past few months, that sentiment still holds true. The fact that many years ago it took 133 votes to elect a speaker in no way negates the atrocity of it all. I used to excuse the political conundrums that we continually embroil ourselves in as just more evidence of…
Hawthorne Hill by Richard DeRosa Desert Dispatch #2: Remembering and Re-remembering Every spring up on the hill a process of re-remembering inevitably takes place. Bird calls and songs lain dormant all winter need to work their way back to conscious memory. And as the world greens up and comes to life, memory needs to do a few tricks as well. Can’t remember how many times I have been on a walk, noticed a spring flower and then spent a good…
Up On Hawthorne Hill by Richard DeRosa Kale and Gladiola Thoughts Lead to Reflections on Humankind From my study window I can just make out the withered, bedraggled remains of one of our kale plants. Otherwise, all is snow-mantled and covered up and tucked in for the winter. Down in the barn, where I hung out for a few minutes yesterday staring at the bundled glad bulbs drooping from nails in the rafter, my thoughts turned to, well, the indescribably…
Hawthorne Hill by Richard DeRosa Of Leaves, and Finding Solace in Today’s World Things are pretty much settled in for the winter up here on the hill. A few odds and ends remain to be attended to come spring. No matter, never possible to fit everything in. Putting a place to bed bears a striking resemblance to getting something like an essay written. One never quite hits it square on the nose, but there comes a time to either send…