"Some days I guess there just aren't enough rocks."
Wednesday, August 15, 2018
From The Trucker: Completing the Interstate Highway System
Traveling across Nevada yesterday, I was thinking about the completion of the interstate highway system.
From riding with dad and my early days on the road I was able see the final stages be finished.
One thing I found curious was the difference in the way the roads were built in the east compared to out west. The roads were built in sections. In the east (like I-95), they would build the bypass around the cities and large towns first then finish the stretches between towns. In the west (especially Nevada), they would build the highway between towns and then make you go through each town.
When I asked dad about it he explained. The towns out west, especially the casinos, made good money off the travelers passing through. They wanted to keep those cars and trucks rolling through downtown as long as they could. I wish I could remember which section of road was finished last. I think it was Winnemucca or Battle Mountain.
Anyway, I strolled through Winnemucca today and took some pictures.
The Yellow Garden Spider
Years ago, when the Trucker and I were newly married and in our first home, I was weeding a flowerbed that rimmed the back porch.
And came upon a spider of Great Size. Resting head downward, clinging to a web of Great Size.
Which caused the noises coming out of me to be of Great Size.
The Trucker obligingly dealt with the problem in a way that I didn't even want to know about.
Later research enlightened me to the fact that this was a Yellow Garden Spider.
Wikipedia says this:
It is common to the contiguous United States, Hawaii, southern Canada, Mexico, and Central America. It has distinctive yellow and black markings on the abdomen and a mostly white cephalothorax.
And this:
These spiders may bite if disturbed or harassed, but the venom is seemingly harmless to humans.
And also this:
The web of the yellow garden spider is distinctive: a circular shape up to 2 feet (60 cm) in diameter, with a dense zigzag of silk, known as a stabilimentum, in the center. The purpose of the stabilimentum is disputed. It is possible that it acts as camouflage for the spider lurking in the web's center, but it may also attract insect prey, or even warn birds of the presence of the otherwise difficult-to-see web. Only those spiders that are active during the day construct stabilimenta in their webs.
Today I was weeding a long neglected area and came upon this:
Another yellow garden spider! Yay! This time, I knew better than to disturb or annihilate her. We existed side by side for a time. Me, tugging large weeds from saturated soil, and she, resting head down in the center of her web, waiting.
Her web was all of two feet in diameter on the lilac bush. She knew when the wind was causing it to sway, and when the movement was from a blundering insect that was ensnared by the sticky strands. I was actually tempted to scoot down to the garden, grab a grasshopper, and tangle it in her web, just to see her in action. But I couldn't bring myself to sacrifice a naive little hopper just for my own curiosity.
Back to our first home, where I had destroyed the "original" yellow garden spider.
After I learned what she was, and how beneficial she was, I waited and watched for another. Finally, the wait was rewarded.
The children and I watched her all summer. She grew to immense size, and always kept a tidy, well repaired web. In early fall, she made egg sacs. Five of them. They looked like this:
After making the sacs, she shrank markedly. No wonder! She grew more and more feeble, and finally died.
The egg sacs lived on. All but one, which we carefully cut it open. A difficult job! There were multiple layers, none of which would tear, and some that defied even my sharpest kitchen knife. But at last we found the eggs. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them. So small, almost invisible. It looked like the eggs had been laid on a flat layer, covered several times with a different coating each time, then the layer was rolled into an egg shape, and covered with several more layers. The outer layer look and felt almost like a paper bag, but we could not tear it, and only cut it after tries with several different tools.
The sacs that remained outdoors were buffeted by winter winds and temperatures til spring. One day they seemed covered with a fine dust. In reality, each little grain of "dust" was a spider baby. Next day they were gone; only the open egg sac gave testament to what happened there. Did they crawl away? Did they shoot out a silk balloon and fly away? We don't know.
Some questions remain. Where do they come from? It seems they don't exist in communities, but stake out their own territory. How do they know where to settle? And how does a spider manage to produce all those eggs, and the material to cover and protect them, from her own body? Not only to keep the eggs safe in an impenetrable sac til spring, but also protect from winter temperatures? And how did they know when to hatch? (We had actually taken a second egg sac that long ago year, and kept it in the house all winter. It hatched out the same time as the outdoor sacs, despite being in warm temperatures all winter.)
And why do they, of all arachnids, weave a stabilimentum in their webs? The root word being stable, or stability.
I need a stabilimentum in my own life.
Actually, I have one. Thank you Lord, for your presence and your Word. And the marvelous world that surrounds us. Including the Yellow Garden Spider.
Monday, August 13, 2018
The Trucker Wonders About Pumpernickel
For you folks who like pumpernickel bread, I thought I would let you know where it comes from.
But really what is pumpernickel? I know about wheat, oats and rye, but what is pumpernickel?. Can I get some pumpernickel seeds and grow some in the garden? Also, thanks to modern technology I did not have to type out pumpernickel each time. I just had to get as far as the e.
One more note. Apparently crows like pumpernickel.
Sunday, August 12, 2018
Our Grief is not Complete
I am not sure who wrote the above poem. The wording seems extreme. But I am there.
Compared to many, I have suffered very little, and have blessings beyond compare. I know. And I am grateful. However, my own grief has no closure, as yet. The loss goes on and on.
The world continues turning, seemingly unaware that mine stopped two years ago. And it should. But I wish it could continue turning, without taking me along with it.
There is that dreaded, quiet hour before sleep comes at night (if it ever comes), and again when sleep fades with the morning (if indeed it ever came), when the agony of separation presses in without mercy. The busyness of day, and the unconsciousness of night do not quite meet or overlap in that hour, allowing memories to invade my mind.
I find myself resisting the daily torment, frantically pushing my body to exhaustion in task after task, in the hope that grief will not overwhelm yet again. How many times must I face it, before the pain is gone? How often must I allow tears to wash my soul before healing comes?
Friends and family must surely be weary of my story. I certainly am. It is the elephant in every room, every conversation of which I am a part. It brings discomfort, demanding to be spoken of, yet not wanting to be heard. Life must be easier for others if I and my baggage are not there.
There are moments of joy, of laughter. But they are brief. They dam up the reality in which we live, and when the short respite ends, the dam breaks and sorrow drowns us the more deeply, as if to make up for lost time.
I wonder, is something wrong with me, with us, that we are not "over it" yet? Do parents who lose a child to death grieve so intensely?
The Trucker said today, "I long for my father, and so badly wish I could talk to him. But my grief is completed. I know why he was taken away, and I know I will see him again."
But our grief for our children is not complete. We don't know why our children left, or when we will see them again. And our separation from them is fraught with misunderstandings, deceptions, accusations, threats. We are in limbo, waiting. Bearing not only our grief, but the knowledge that behind the walls that surround their hearts is intense hurt. Only reconciliation will ease the pain and bring understanding.
But how will the strongholds be broken? And when?
Even so, come Lord Jesus.
The Eye of the Storm
Today, again, it is time to mow and trim the lawn. Never mind I did this chore only two days ago. Abundant rain, blazing sun, and steaming humidity has put the greenery on overdrive.
As el Toro and I, coordinating our efforts at least for the moment, charge up and down the acreage, clouds thicken around me. Thunder rolls continuously, from one direction and then another.
The sun disappears. Black clouds hang over the hills, boiling and turning within themselves. Gray-blue sheets of rain hang from the clouds. Puffs of air become strong breezes, bringing coolness across the valley and evaporating sweat.
The sheets of rain withdraw, the churning mass of clouds blow eastward.
Then the sky darkens in the southwest. A ceiling of gray descends over the fields, swiftly turning to black. Temperatures drop further. I welcome the brisk coolness, even as I urge el Toro to a higher gear.
But never in all those hours, did the storm come directly overhead, and drop its load of moisture on me. Always the winds swirled above and around, but my task was completed without the interruption of rain. Yet the happy change in temperature and humidity was mine to enjoy.
I pondered the correlation between the physical world in view, and the unseen spiritual world. How often did I tell my children, "What you do affects not only you, but everyone around you as well?" We think what we do will not matter, we can do as we please. (We have out rights, after all! Hmmm...) But even though the storm did not break over my head, the winds still blew over me.
While the winds of today were pleasant, not all winds are. And I will feel those as well. And while I was protected from the physical storm today, the spiritual storm rages on. But I know to Whom I can flee for shelter when a respite is needed.
Psalm 91:4
He will cover you with His pinions,
And under His wings you may seek refuge;
His faithfulness is a shield and bulwark.
This verse does not promise absence of storm, but a shelter when it happens.
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