Saint Francis of Assisi

A Review of "Francis of Assisi – A Revolutionary Life", by Adrian House

 

This is a book I have long wanted to read.  How long?  Sixteen years.  It’s been on my TBR list since I worked for our community’s start-up library and oversaw collection development.  One of the perks of the job was to be able to buy some of the books I was interested in.

My interest in St. Francis dates back before then.  Intrigued by the cloistered life and fond of animals, I was drawn to this figure who preached to birds and founded a religious order.  I’ve had the Prayer of St. Francis hanging on my bedroom wall for almost 20 years.  In some ways, you could say I was a groupie, albeit a very ignorant one. 

Like countless others, I knew the story of a man who renounced his family’s great wealth and his partying ways, removed his clothes and took a vow of poverty, then went off to preach to birds.  I had a lot to learn.

This book by Adrian House more than filled in the gaping holes in my knowledge; it did so in an entertaining and thought-provoking way.  It is a dense book, filled with too many Italian names and places to keep straight, but as I kept with it, I was rewarded for my persistence.  I continually came across insightful passages connecting Francis’s journey and thoughts to modern times or to other historical events.

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Pilgrimage

The year is 1568. Queen Elizabeth sits on the throne of England. Mary, Queen of Scots, has fled Scotland seeking refuge with her cousin Elizabeth. Instead, she finds herself imprisoned and turned over to the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury. In March of 1568, a young stonemason, by the name of Robert Smythson, leaves Caversham, where he has been working for the Queen Elizabeth’s cousin Sir Francis Knollys, and travels to Longleat in Wiltshire, to join the workforce of Sir John Thynne. He will spend the next twelve years building one of the most beautiful homes in England for a man renowned for his demands for perfection and stinginess, before moving north to oversee the design and building of Wollaton Hall for Sir Francis Willoughby and finally Hardwick Hall for the Countess of Shrewsbury.

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Trees, continued

I first mentioned my current obsession with trees here.  Please, allow me to continue to ramble on.  My current WIP takes place in a dense forest, similar to or based on the dense forests in southwest Germany or the Alsace region of France.  The story is fairy tale-like, evoking (I hope) the magical forests of classic fairy tales.  Trees shelter and protect characters in danger, they warn of intruders, they supply needed medicines, and generally act as a force for good for all the forest inhabitants.

Then, I came across this delightful book:  The Hidden Life of Trees: What They Feel, How They Communicate, by Peter Wohlleben.   This is not a case of life imitating art, but surpassing it.  This is a case of truth being equal to or better than fiction.  Turns out, trees found in dense natural forests really do all those things, at least for each other.

Wohlleben manages forests in Germany, and he writes with great affection of trees interconnected with one another through their root systems, sharing nutrients, supporting and nurturing sick trees back to health, even supplying nutrients to a seemingly dead stump.   He tells of trees releasing toxic substances to deter pests, then other trees reading the situation and releasing their own toxic substances.  Trees are communicating with one another for the good of the entire population, they work together to establish a local climate or ecosystem in which they all benefit.  Overall, he sees a group of related trees functioning as a single unit, much like an ant colony.

Other topics include the maternal instinct of some trees, who actually slow the growth of young trees, because a slower growth is associated with longevity, the interaction between trees and other organisms such as mosses, birds, or ivy, and how trees recovery from injury.   Time is measured differently for trees, with units of decades or even centuries, rather than hours or days.  The dramas that unfold in a tree’s life cycle unfold very slowly.

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A writer’s prayer

Let the air and ideas float around me
While I sit among papers and words.
Let me submerge myself in fable and adventure
And grasp the whisper on the wind.

Today let me live in possibility,
Allowing myself to wander in wonder,
Daring to imagine the infinite
Possible combinations.

For you, O Lord, are a God of word and story.
The creator, who created me to create.
To live a life of self-expression and
Quiet the voice of denial and doubt.

I pull hope from the corner of my heart,
And banish wounds of criticism and fear.
I hold my offering gently in my hand and ask
Your spirit to breath it into life.

O creator God, create afresh in me.
Allow me to dig deep and bring forth
Character – both within and without.
Bless the work of my hands, O Lord.
Bless the work of my hands.

 

By Katherine J. Scott

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Birds on a wire

One of the perks of driving my son to his early morning swim practice each day is the opportunity to see hundreds (thousands?) of birds congregate on the wires above a large intersection for their morning staff meeting.

It is fascinating to watch their dynamics.  In response to some unknown signal, half of them will leave their wire, swarm in the air, and cross to another wire.  Thirty seconds later, another group will swarm back to the other side.  What is most fun it watching the swarm change their mind, dance, turn, and retreat.  I love watching them hunt for a free spot along the wire, bickering and arguing about seniority.

Why do they do this?

  • Are they waiting for the sunrise? If so, why do they not all face east?
  • Are they waiting for the nearby Taco Cabana to open to get their morning breakfast tacos?
  • Are they watching to see how crowded IH-35 is on any particular morning? Can they tell the weekends from the weekdays?
  • Are they watching us? They remind me of the crowds of people who gather near the Congress Ave Bridge to watch the evening emergence and feeding of the bats.

I love imagining their conversations and group dynamics.  They remind me of cliques in middle school:  if that group is going to sit on our side of the cafeteria, we’ll go to the other.

Does one bird say to another:

“You’re not going to believe the size of the worm the Mrs. brought home for dinner yesterday.  I’m stuffed.”

“I noticed the wire hanging a little lower after you landed on it.”

Or

“Did you hear about the grackle family in the nest in the third tree from the light pole?  I heard she’s laid eight eggs.”

“Eight?  That’s too many.  It’s not going to end well.  Probably going to see her on the cover of the Bird-Enquirer being called the Octo-Avian.”

I do believe it has something to do with the sunrise.  When it’s cloudy or rainy, they’re not there.  Which makes me wonder:  do they all cheer when the sun rises, as groups of people will do watching a sunset?

If I have to get up at O:dark:30 every day, at least the animal behaviorist in me gets something to watch.

So many questions:

  • How far do they come from?  Do they leave a representative to monitor activity at the field office, or do they all report to headquarters for the meeting?
  • Why, an hour later when I drive my daughter through the same intersection, are they all gone?  Where did they go?
  • Do they all leave at the same time, or drift slowly away in ones and twos as they do in the scene from Ocean’s Eleven after the successful heist?

I could stay and watch, but my second cup of coffee is waiting for me at home and sometimes it’s more fun to imagine the possibilities than knowing for sure.  The light changes to green, I send thoughts of love out to the birds and head home ready to continue my day and leave the birds to continue theirs.

 

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