Joe Dongell has worms... graphic video

So Saturday, Jessie and I went to see Joe Dongell, the pastor/professor who married us. He does worm composting. We went to see his worms. The worms were awesome, but Joe also has all kinds of cool stuff going on-- he built a barn out of pallets. Has a 5 ton truck used for hauling manure. Had a steel broadfork fabricated for tearing up sod before tilling. But then we go downstairs into the worm pit. He has a few plastic boxes where he keeps the worms. Basically, the bottom is sand so that there's drainage and also for the worms' gizzards to grind up food. Then there's some dirt. And then you throw in kitchen garbage, all the stuff that you'd put in a compost heap. Then the worms chow down and their "castings" is the best soil you can imagine. I mean it looks like black coffee grounds. Amazing stuff. Best soil you have ever seen. He reached in and pulled out a handful of worms. He said he started some 5 or 6 years ago with a pile of worms in a bix about the size of a chinese take-out box. And the worms just keep reproducing. It was pretty awesome. Every so often he can take out the worm soil and add it to the garden. Man I am so jealous, because this stuff really is the best soil additive I have seen. Joe uses it around plants, just adds it to the soil around a growing plant. As we talked about the theory of it, Joe started talking about some cutting edge research that indicates you should put worm castings and compost on the top don't worry so much about mixing it in, because the thought is that topsoil grows from the top down. Additionally, there is some sense that plants are not so much absorbing nutrients from the soil as they are absorbing the decaying remains of all the microorganisms that have died. In fact, it appears that much of the nitrogen in the soil is from the bodies of dead worms. So there you have it. A professor who really helped me through some tough times and taught me New testament and Old testament... it all comes down to making good soil.

Tuesday

Deep in his heart, every man wants a burger named after him. Or rather, he wants to create a burger that will be forever remembered. Today, I stopped by a store across from Stella’s, a French market kind of place. Well, they had my favorite, sheep’s cheese. Two varieties, and one from my great-grandfather’s home region, Bearn. So I had to get it.

Tuesday after school is family night around our house. We decided to hang out here. We put together a raised bed. We built a small fire. We played basketball. John said, “This is the best family night ever,” which was gratifying because we weren’t DOING anything. We were just hanging out, taking care of some stuff, playing. But that’s all it takes. Anyway, we grilled some burgers, and I decided to put the sheep’s milk cheese on mine. Very nice. A thick slice of onion. Nice. Next time (uh, that would be Thursday!) I am going to perfect what I shall call “The Basque Burger:” Ossau-Iraty cheese, onion, and some (ok, lots of!) roasted garlic smeared on the bun.

There’s all kinds of crazy talk going on at the Rock. We’re looking at fewer resources, like everyone in these time. I’m not sure if I should call them “tough” or “uncertain,” but whatever it is, it is impacting the church. Well, with the seed sale, we realized we can make some money for the mission of feeding hungry people. We are going to sell some transplants (tomatoes and peppers) and hopefully ease some more of the burden on the budget. I have challenged our garden and First Church’s garden to supply all of our needs for the Monday Night ministry this summer. Additionally, Bob McKinley is helping us to market some of our vegetables to add more resources to the church.

And then, there’s this madness: for years I have wanted to grow fish in a barrel. I know, I know, I am Tommy Boy. But you can grow fish easily and it would be good protein on the table. Well, my partner in crime John Crissman introduced me to Kentucky’s aquaculture expert. A Methodist, no less.

So anyway that was two months ago. Jim Embry and some others convinced me I was not thinking big enough. Can we really close the fresh food gap by urban “farming?” Could we raise fish in more than barrels? Lots of fish? To feed the hungry and to sell? The Lord keeps putting people in our path who shed a little more light on the way.

I walked past Arlington one day and lamented to Ica that I had not thought big enough. Krikey, Erin had given me a coffee mug years ago that says, “what would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail?” I guess one of the things I would do is end hunger as far as I could, one person, one neighborhood at a time. Can you send up some prayers that many doors will open and paths will be illuminated, so that we do more than we imagine, and indeed do what we ourselves could not do.

The Ride

Tuesday, after school, we were in my office. My extracycle was in there, as well as Joe’s bike. He begged to ride home, could we both ride together. I had my doubts. There are three long hills (not steep, just long) and Joe’s bike doesn’t have gears. But I thought, ok, we’ll see. It was Joe’s first time to do more than go around a block, ride in the church lot, etc. So we walked across Limestone and headed down Arceme. Well, that was the first hill, right as he got moving. He was so frustrated, really taking it out on himself. I calmed him down and we walked to the top of the hill and rode down. But then Parkview is more of the same, a hill right as you get started after we walked across Bryan. But he got it and he had those little legs working. Brandon, Joe’s uncle, is fond of pointing out that when little kids walk or climb stairs, they are really strong—stairs for a four-year old is like us stepping repeatedly onto a truck tailgate, he says, aptly.

Well, Joe made it, and he made it up the hill on Highland Park. It was really cool.

I’ll try not to ramble on about how bikes are such elegant pieces of technology, so simple, such a human pace to them. And I won’t let that get me started on how musical instruments are such elegant pieces of technology, how as Mike Cecil says, “Bluegrass is the people’s music”—no amps, no drums, just open up a case anyone can carry and play.

And did I mention that last night Joseph was strumming the guitar and among the many strange noises coming from many attempts at putting fingers down on the fretboard, one of them was E-minor?

The Ride

Tuesday, after school, we were in my office. My extracycle was in there, as well as Joe’s bike. He begged to ride home, could we both ride together. I had my doubts. There are three long hills (not steep, just long) and Joe’s bike doesn’t have gears. But I thought, ok, we’ll see. It was Joe’s first time to do more than go around a block, ride in the church lot, etc. So we walked across Limestone and headed down Arceme. Well, that was the first hill, right as he got moving. He was so frustrated, really taking it out on himself. I calmed him down and we walked to the top of the hill and rode down. But then Parkview is more of the same, a hill right as you get started after we walked across Bryan. But he got it and he had those little legs working. Brandon, Joe’s uncle, is fond of pointing out that when little kids walk or climb stairs, they are really strong—stairs for a four-year old is like us stepping repeatedly onto a truck tailgate, he says, aptly.

Well, Joe made it, and he made it up the hill on Highland Park. It was really cool.

I’ll try not to ramble on about how bikes are such elegant pieces of technology, so simple, such a human pace to them. And I won’t let that get me started on how musical instruments are such elegant pieces of technology, how as Mike Cecil says, “Bluegrass is the people’s music”—no amps, no drums, just open up a case anyone can carry and play.

And did I mention that last night Joseph was strumming the guitar and among the many strange noises coming from many attempts at putting fingers down on the fretboard, one of them was E-minor?

One Week Later...

So, we were out doing evangelism again this week. A street away from my soi-disant Buddhist.

We were having a good time; Jessie made up a song, borrowing an old Lewis Family tune: “So many years, so many houses… so many years, so many blessings, we’ll have eternity to share.”

A door opened and an honest man stepped out. When he heard I was from the church, he was not too pleased, a smirk of resignation on his face. I asked if he had a church.

No, he said, drawing it out, emphasizing being resigned to having to deal with creatures barely above Mormons.

I asked why not.

He said, “I don’t go.”

“Too ornery?”

A smile, albeit faint. “I guess so.”

“Well,” I says, “you’ll die and face the judgment same as all of us. When you want to get ready before that day, come see us,” and I handed him my card.

This I will deal with, I’ll talk to this guy. I expect to be back. I expect he’ll talk to me. Just don’t feed me a line of bull. You don’t go, you hate God, you think preachers are idiots, immoral, both or worse, whatever, just don’t bs me. You can run me, you can beat me, just don’t bs me.

On the Street

Another in the annals of evangelism stories. Me and Roz really need to write a book. Anyway, on a street where I have had encounters with Jehovahs and Mormons, the only guy I got to meet is a case study. He was picking up trash from the where the trash pickup had scattered it. I commented by way of introduction that there’s more trash after they come by, and he laughed. As I handed him the card I use (church name, service times, etc), and mentioned that I was a pastor, he immediately waved me off and said, “I’m not a church-goer.”

“Why not?”

“I follow more of the Buddhist way.”

So I had to turn down my inner monologue. Here’s what the filter caught: “You Northside stoner! Of course you follow Buddha! You were baked and god forbid your dealer is the county jailhouse philosopher…”

What I said was, “it’s been my experience that people who say that have no idea what they are talking about. It’s really more honest to just say you don’t have time for really changing your life to please God. We won’t waste each other’s time that way.”

The problem is this: b.s. is worse than lying. B.S. is still a lie, it just fools the hearer and speaker into thinking something was actually thought out and said. Tell me you go to Nonesuch Baptist Church. Lie to me, just don’t b.s. me.

Seed Sale

Holy Crow! We sold $2,057 worth of seeds. Thanks to everyone who came. And we still have some stuff left if you didn't get any... or enough!

Sunday Gift

So Sunday morning, Johnny G and I are in the hall a few minuted before Sunday School. Up comes Diane Sears, about as sweet a saint as there is. She has had and has a tough life. But she is full of the joy of the Lord. She came up and put her arms around me and started singing, "Good morning to you, good morning to you..."

It was a boost. I mean, I was already having a good day, but what a blessing.

Joe Joe's 1st Free Throw Shot in a Game....

Joseph had his next to last basketball game today. Joseph likes to play, but he does more running than anything else. He kind of wanders around. But he has a lot of fun. He can flat out get down the court for a “big man.” Today they were playing the only team to beat them this season. Joe’s team, The Spartans, poured it on early and had The Crimson Tide in a hole. But The Tide has a player who can really shake and bake for a 2^nd grader. Joe ended up defending him in the next to last quarter, when it looked like they might make a run. He stayed with the boy, put those long arms out and up, the kid could not get a look. Only scored 2 points. Tenacious D. Just like his old man, as John Gallaher knows only too well.

Here’s a video of Joe “Money” Mansfield hitting a clutch free-throw—his team won by one.