The Male Problem

A mere 100 days beyond conception, a male fetus is capable of producing an erection.  From this point on I fear most other development suffers for that.  Wasn’t it Robin Williams who quipped, “See, the problem is that God gives men a brain and a penis, and only enough blood to run one at a time?”

-- Mitchell Hegman

Up and Out in the City

I am accustomed to country living.

By “country living,” I mean Montana-style country living—where a car may or may not drive by my house once during the course of a whole day.  This morning, I woke at “work leaving” time, here at the open end of a cul-de-sac in an Ohio allotment.

Every minute or so, for a period of about a half-hour, sports cars and compacts vroomed to life somewhere down-street and then quickly jettisoned out of the neighborhood, passing just below our second story window.

Interesting.

And slightly less annoying than I might have imagined.

     

--Mitchell Hegman

Something Steven Spielberg Said

As someone deeply involved in apprenticeship training, I really appreciate this Steven Spielberg quote:

“The delicate balance of mentoring someone is not creating them in your own image, but giving them the opportunity to create themselves."

Natural Spider Repellent?

The Amish living in Holmes County, Ohio, have a good thing going on.  And I am not simply talking about their huge furniture and bulk food stores.  I am talking about all natural spider repellent here.  Hedge apples.

I found some for sale while in Holmes County yesterday.

I later did some reading.

Hedge apples, according to University of Illinois Natural Resource Educator, Bob Frazee, are produced by the Osage-orange tree.  The Osage-orange is a member of the Mulberry Family.  This is a tough little number—able to withstand poor soils, extreme heat, and heavy winds.  The trees are commonly used for wind breaks and hedges.  That girl’s sister has a row growing along the access road to her house near Bowling Green, Ohio.  The wood produced is also quite heavy and hardy.

The fruit of the Osage-orange, hedge apples, is what most people find intriguing.  For a very long time, folk tales have held that hedge apples, if placed strategically around the basement or garage of a house, will repel spiders naturally and without harm to anyone or anything.

I very much like that idea.

Toxicologists from Iowa State University put this idea to test.  They did in fact find repellent compounds.  In their estimation, however, the natural concentration of repellents in the fruit was too low to be effective.

That girl said she placed hedge apples in the corners of her basement and never had problems with spiders.  I do believe I will take that girl’s testimony and run with it.

Some ideas are just too good to be wrong.

 

-- Mitchell Hegman

When Life Takes a Turn for the Better

“Papa, what you doing?”

“I’m just looking at my phone, Mackenna.”

“Why you look so sad?”

“Do I look sad?  I was just reading some news.”

“Why you do that?”

“Hmmm. That’s actually a pretty good question.  I don’t have a good answer.”

“That’s okay.  Maybe we could play Play-Doh?”

“Yes, I think we could do that.  And thank you for asking.”

“You’re welcome, Papa.”

-- Mitchell Hegman

List of Items Required for Progressing Calmly into the Future

backpack

find some kind of advantage in self-doubt

toothpaste

new socks

count the rings of each tree felled the cabin

kiss that girl every morning (twice is acceptable)

fresh bananas

cat food

pesto

resolve the whole “religion thing”

hug Mackenna every time you see her

walk down to the lake

finish the cabin flooring

greenhouse?

gala apples

napkins

feed the koi

-- Mitchell Hegman

The Monster’s Third

I woke feeling very rested this morning.  I enjoyed the distinct impression I had slept soundly, if not calmly, throughout the night.  As I lay in bed, awake and contemplating swinging out from under the covers, that girl asked softly, “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” I answered.  “How did you sleep?”

“Not that well.  You were riding your bike in your sleep.”

“Again?   I’m sorry.”

Apparently, in some of my deeper sleep modes, I kick around quite a bit.  For several years I also loudly gnashed my teeth together.  And there are the countless morning I wake only to find I have basically flung all the bedding and pillows to the floor in my sleep.

You might think I would recall some of that.   But I have nothing.  I may recall a random dream or two.  I might wake with a start and some vague impression of danger.  But the kicking and climbing beast that occupies me in my sleep completely evades me.

So goes one third of my life (with my sincerest apologies to that girl).

-- Mitchell Hegman

Feeding the Fish

When the afternoon sun finally warms the pond at Mackenna’s house, the koi fish begin roving just under the sun-struck surface.  Yesterday, during the warmest hour, Mackenna and Grandma CC fed the fish as they gathered near the shore.

I am not sure why, but I find feeding the pond fish with Mackenna to be one of the most satisfying rituals I have engaged in for many years.   Something about the sun and calm water and the biggest fish gathering near the shore where Mackenna stands flinging out handfuls of food against reflections of sky.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Bowling Green at Sunset

Posted are a couple of captures from last night’s sunset near Bowling Green, Ohio.  Bowling Green is in the heart of farm country and is the very small town where the National Tractor Pulling Championships are held each year.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Something Henry Said

“The best thing one can do when it’s raining is to let it rain.”

-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Upon My Arrival

“Papa want to paint?”

“Yes, I would like that, Mackenna.”

“Do you want to play with blocks in the big room, Papa?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Want to go see my tent house?”

“I would like to do that.”

-- Mitchell Hegman

A Thief in the Night

Last night I woke in a panic.  In my dream, someone had stolen my snowmobile.  I lay there, somewhat freaked out, until it occurred to me that I don’t own a snowmobile.

-- Mitchell Hegman

It’s a River

He is grown now.  He has his own children who will, not so long from now, have children of their own.  But Brandon was four, the day I walked with him through cottonwood trees to see the creek parading though my small town.

Doctors had opened up his mother—my sister—like an apple with bad seeds.

The seeds had to go.

We kicked at some stones along the way.

Brandon found a stick he liked.

The creek was dark and swollen, having recently been fed by heavy rains in the Elkhorn Mountains.  I took Brandon’s hand as we neared the water.  “The creek is dirty,” I said.

I will never forget his response.  “It’s a river,” Brandon reprimanded.  “And calling water dirty isn’t nice.”

I smiled. “You’re absolutely right, Brandon.”

I was older and had so much to unlearn.

-- Mitchell Hegman

They Gathered

I am unable to accurately paint the entire picture, but I can give you a rough sketch.  I am talking about when the departed gather around me.  “All the dead dears,” as Sylvia Plath put it.

But this is no macabre dance.  Not the grim relics found in Sylvia Plath’s poem.

Far from it.

The gathering occurred very early this morning as I floated within my hot tub under a starry sky.

Yesterday, that girl’s daughter had to euthanize Bear, one of her dogs.  A big muscular, golden dog.  When that girl and I visited, Bear was always first to greet us.

This morning, as I sat in the warm water, with wisps of steam weaving up against the stars around me, I thought of Bear.  And then I thought about Carmel, my sweet 20 pounds of housecat…now forever lost in his endless sleep under a nearby pine tree where I opened up the earth and put him inside.

Soon, the others gathered around me.  My late wife.  My grandmother.  My grandfather.  All the departed.

Sometimes, I miss each of them in sharp and overwhelming moments of grief.  At other times, my mind follows them on long thoughtful ventures back to what once was.

For a minute or so today, anguish overcame me.  “I miss all of you,” I said aloud.  “And I know why you are here.  You have come to gather up Bear and take him with you.”

So it was.

This morning, they gathered around me.  They gathered around Bear.  When they left, slowly softening and fading into the stars, Bear accompanied them.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Sunset, October 14, 2018

The other night, my smarter-than-me-phone rang while I sat on my sofa watching television:

“Hello.”

“Sunset.”

“Yeah?”

“Sunset.”

“Thanks.  On it.”

-- Mitchell Hegman

A Wee Dram

My friend, Sandi, recently spent some time in Scotland.  The other day, she stopped by with a gift for me and an electronic tablet with photographs from the trip. 

For those of you unfamiliar, Scotland is the place where Scotch whisky is distilled.  That’s pretty much all you need to know.  Well, the Loch Ness Monster is also there.  That’s worth an honorable mention.

Sandi entered my house with her tablet and a couple of bags in her arms.  “Do you like single malts or blends?” she asked once we settled at the stools around my kitchen peninsula.

“Single malts.  They tend to keep the peat or smoky flavor.”

“Good!” Sandi fished a bottle of Cragganmore 12 year old Speyside single malt Scotch from the largest bag.  “Have you ever had this?”

“Nope.”

“Normally, I don’t like Scotch.  But I liked this.  We need to have a wee dram.”

For those of you from East Helena, Montana (like both me and Sandi), a “wee dram” is what we call a “shot.”  Historically, a dram was a coin, a unit of mass, and a unit of volume.  As a measure of volume, a dram is 1/8^th of a fluid ounce.

Sandi then handed me my most important gift: a clear and delicate whisky glass she had purchased in the Scottish Highlands.  That, along with brochures from a few distilleries (Glenlivet, Glen Grant, Aberlour, Brodie, Glen Moray), a “collector’s pack” of Scotch with just a taste of three single malts, and a packet of blooming heather seeds.

The heather seeds are important, too.  Heather grows along the bogs where the peat used for the malting process grows.

As we sipped at our wee dram, Sandi gave me a tour of Scotland with her photographs.  The Highlands of Scotland are lovely.  All stone, inclines, green grass, and sky.   A visit to Scotland is definitely on my bucket list.

Normally, I am I am all about landscape photographs, but Sandi soon scrolled the photographs until she located a snapshot of the guestbook she signed at the Cragganmore Distillery.

“I love that!” I said upon seeing the photograph.

Sandi was kind enough to email me a copy of the photograph (and one of the distillery).  I have posted both photographs here.  Please take a close look at the last entry in the guestbook.

The Cragganmore, by the way, was smooth and flavorful without being overpowering.  Good, that!

Thank you, Sandi!

-- Mitchell Hegman

Instruments of Murder

Late one night, Rachel called the police on her neighbors.  “Sounds like someone is getting murdered over there,” she told the dispatcher.

An hour later, a young male officer came to Rachel’s door.  “Not murder,” he stated plainly.  “It’s bagpipes.”

“Bagpipes?”

“Yes.  A young girl was practicing on her bagpipes.”

“It sounded awful,” Rachel told the officer.  “I was concerned for everyone over there.”

“It was just practice.”

“Well, there should be a law.”

“I’m sorry,” said the young officer.

Years later, Rachel found an article in her local newspaper about the same girl from next door.  She had been accused of writing the musical score for a highly successful Broadway production.

Rachel felt somewhat vindicated after reading the article.  “This could have been stopped years ago,” she muttered to herself.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Math Made Too Easy

Here are three “solved” math problems I found on the internet.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Dreyer’s Vanilla Bean Ice Cream versus Sleep

I don’t eat a lot of sweets.  Generally, when I am struck by a craving, I crave something savory.  Potato chips tend to be my “go to” snack.

Not so last night.

I woke at 3:36 AM with thoughts of Dreyer’s vanilla bean ice cream dancing through my head.  I have had a container of Dreyer’s vanilla bean ice cream in my freezer for several weeks.  

I flopped around in bed and tried to burrow away from the craving.  I repeatedly punched my pillows.  I tried to throwing thoughts of installing cabin flooring in front of the ice cream.

No giving in, dammit.

I had no intention of crawling out of bed so I could grab a bowl of ice cream.

My fight against ice cream was epic.  I continued to punch my pillows and strangle my bedding.  Every few minutes, I flashed my eyes open and checked the digital clock.  Somewhere after 4:42, I finally drifted off to sleep again (with the container of Dreyer’s vanilla bean ice cream chasing after me).

I woke again at 5:15 this morning and dragged myself from bed.

Guess what I ate as my coffee maker gasped and wheezed while brewing my morning coffee.

-- Mitchell Hegman

A Big Brother

It is not enough to acquire an orbit near a bright sun, such as that of Earth’s, or to be of similar size, or similar range of temperatures in order to produce and then sustain life.  A planet must also have, essentially, a big brother in orbit nearby.

We have Jupiter.

Jupiter is massive--having a surface area something over 120 times that of our own, and a gravity over twice as strong as that which holds both leaf and stone to the surface of Earth.

The gravitational pull of Jupiter may well be the very thing protecting us from a sudden and cataclysmic demise.  Acting like a big vacuum, Jupiter sucks from surrounding space most of the large, Earth-threatening bodies whizzing through the solar system, saving us from fatal collisions.

-- Mitchell Hegman

What the Man Wanted to Say

The man said, ever so carefully, “I would like to buy a new camera.  Maybe one with interchangeable lenses.  That seems a nice feature.”

But he actually wanted to say he was angry because his wife of thirty-two years recently left him for a younger man who permanently wore the tattoo of a snake twining up his right arm.

He wanted to say he had purposely picked up cats the wrong way for his whole life; that the scent of roses made him nauseous; that he felt cheated every time snow fell in September.  But he knew from experience that you cannot say what you really think and expect the average salesperson to understand.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Someone

It is not necessary to love everyone.  But it is absolutely necessary to love someone if you expect to understand anything about how we got here and where we are going.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Mental Exercise

The brain, just the same as any other part of the human body, requires regular exercise.  Given that, you would think my habit of jumping to conclusions would be a far better workout than it is.

-- Mitchell Hegman

People Have to Live Somewhere

As near as I can tell from information I gathered on the internet, Montana leads all other states in nation in the number of acres under conservation easements.  At present, some 2,553,692 acres of Montana landscape are under such easements.  By comparison, Idaho has 293,860 acres under easement.  Alaska has 201,586 acres. Far away Maine holds 2,490,769 acres in easements.

In basic terms, these easements are voluntary legal agreements between landowners and either a government agency or a land trust that permanently limits land use and preserves the land for its conservation value.  Perhaps, more than anything, these easement provide tax incentives for landowners.   In Montana, most of the land has been protected from either becoming a part of own version of urban sprawl or to protect habitat for wildlife.

Montana started seeing substantial growth in both population and the number of land subdivisions for homes in the early 1990s.  In the first half of that decade, land trust agreements in the state also increased by over 60 percent.

Some Montanans resent this sort of thing.  Personally, I’m happy when a ranch somewhere near me is preserved as a ranch.  Ranches define Montana.  I’d rather drive past a ranch than a subdivision any day of the week.  And for those compelled to argue that “people have to live somewhere,” I can only rebut with, “yes, but they don’t have to live everywhere.”

-- Mitchell Hegman

Take This and Run

—If you want to be beautiful, then go ahead and be beautiful.   You are the only person capable of stopping yourself from being so.

—A trip to your kitchen faucet can quickly end the glass half-empty or glass half-full debate.

—Bad driving is still getting you somewhere.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Dreams Come True

A few weeks ago—I don’t know why—I dreamed I was girl-cleaning my house.  For those of you not in the know, girl-cleaning is when you really clean.  You lift stuff up and wipe underneath.

Boy-cleaning, contrarily, is when you wipe around stuff. 

Weirdly enough, a few days later, the dream came true and I found myself girl-cleaning my bathroom.

Not very long after that, I had a dream where I needed to fix something or other at the house.  For the life of me, I could not find a single tool.  Not so much as a screwdriver in my junk drawer.  Not a tool of any kind in my garage.  Where had they gone?  In the dream, I had to drive to town and buy all new tools.

So here it is.  Not long after that, my truck’s battery fell on its face and refused to get up and start the engine.  I had tools here, but they were not exactly what I needed.  When I went into town to pick up a battery, I also purchased a toolkit with a variety of wrenches and an extensive socket set.

After last night, I’m a little worried.

In my latest dream, I found myself driving a narrow street.  Parked cars lined both sides of the street.  Just as I was thinking I needed to watch for children running out from between parked cars, out popped Keith Richards directly in front of me.  He stood there, holding an electric guitar. 

Before I could even begin to wonder where the rest of the Rolling Stones were, I mowed down Keith Richards with my truck.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Gravity and Friction

I am a pretty big fan of gravity.  I appreciate how gravity holds me to the ground so I don’t float off hopelessly only to get smacked by the next passing airplane.  I have had a few minor incidents with gravity.  That time I fell face-first from my stingray bicycle comes to mind immediately.  And (I don’t know if I can hold gravity wholly responsible) there is also the song, “Gravity” by John Mayer, which greatly annoys me for some reason.  But, as a whole, gravity is pretty useful.  

So far as friction is concerned, I have mixed feelings.  Friction is pretty handy when striking a match to start a fire.  It’s great for skidding to a stop, too.  But I seem fighting against friction half the time.  Friction is always holding something back.

Yesterday, friction crossed a line with me.

After digging through the drawer of the antique hutch in my dining room to find an old cellphone charger, I tried to slide the door shut again.  The door didn’t wholly jam, but was pretty difficult to push due to the friction of wood on wood.  I opted to kneel down for better alignment and jiggle the drawer a little as I pushed on it.

Bad idea, that kneeling. 

Jiggling, too.

For a couple years now, gravity has been holding one of that girl’s large pottery pieces on top of the hutch.  My jiggling tipped it over.  Gravity took over entirely from there.

After you finish reading this, you can examine the photograph of the shattered pottery I posted below.  I have also included a photo of the entire hutch (taken after I cleaned up the mess) so you can establish some idea of scale.

As a point of fact, the pottery piece didn’t break upon landing on the hutch.  It shattered when it dropped directly onto my head.

Yep, that one hurt.

-- Mitchell Hegman

Something Ray Bradbury Said

—You don't have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them.

—It's not going to do any good to land on Mars if we're stupid.

—It's lack that gives us inspiration. It's not fullness.

Visions

Yesterday, on a trip into Helena, I saw two really weird things.

My first “vision” occurred as I pulled into the parking lot of a downtown building where I had a meeting with my financial advisor.

Wait a minute.  That’s interesting.  I have a financial advisor?

Yes!  Yes, I do!

Anyhow, as I pulled into the lot, a raven flew above my pickup clutching a fuzzy bunny rabbit nearly as big as the bird itself.

Did I really see that?

I think so.  But I was pretty busy not running into nearby Hondas, Subarus, and other Ford trucks. I captured but a fleeting glance.

After leaving my meeting, I crossed an overpass midway through town.  While crossing over the structure, I thought I saw an oddly shaped plane flying low above the valley in front of me.  Some kind of experimental craft, I thought.

I averted my eyes for a moment to avoid drifting into a van in another lane.  When I directed my eyes toward the sky again, I discovered that my experimental plane was actually a streetlight just standing there on the far end of the overpass.

Nice work, Mitch.

That was—as a plumber buddy of mine often suggested—“one of them optical conclusions.”

Did I mention that I have a financial advisor?

-- Mitchell Hegman

Tables and Chairs (the Big Dipper has been upended)

Overnight, the Big Dipper upended itself.  Early this morning, I found it balancing on its handle atop a pine tree outside my back door.

I’m not worried.

The Dipper will slip down from the tree and repeat.

Here is a real thing.  There exists a fine line between taking an aspirin to cure a headache and drilling a hole in your head to let the demons out.

Just to be safe, I hide my drills.  Sometimes, I have trouble finding them when I need a hole in a board.

I’ve always wondered about some of the more famous philosophers.  Friedrich Nietzsche, who said, “He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.  And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”   Kierkegaard, who is quoted as professing, “My depression is the most faithful mistress I have known.”

Philosophers have always danced along the thinnest edge.

I have learned not to drill holes in my head.  I use power tools to literally “work” my way through troubles.  I choose blueprints over long blue nights. 

I build a house.  A cabin.  Sometimes, a crooked table, which I immediately dismantle and burn so I might begin again.

Imagine if Kierkegaard took up a skill saw instead of existentialism.

Today, we might have Kierkegaard chairs instead of thoughtful abstractions.

-- Mitchell Hegman