Well, We Tried

Getting out the door to "church" this morning wasn't easy; in fact, we weren't even going to go. It had been a late night, an early morning and the day ahead of us was packed to the gills-- an all day music festival followed by late Fathers' Day Dinner reservations on a school night during the last week of school. We had decided weeks ago to skip it even though it was the last service before summer break, and the first service our minister would be back at after having twin boys. Earlier in the week I had turned down an opportunity to participate in the service because I was sure we weren't going.

But early in the morning we started to reconsider. It was rainy, and there was no point in getting to the festival early. We wanted to go to the last service, especially because we only officially joined a few months ago. We wanted to see the minister and the babies, and M wanted to see the minister's older son (who is one of her little buddies). We changed our plans, rushed through breakfast and a few showers, talked our child into a somewhat reasonable outfit for church, made sure we had a check for the balance of the pledge we owed for the year and set off on our way. Checking the clock we had just enough time to make it.

Over the past few months our congregation has gone through a number of changes. They've changed their name. They've changed the names of their committees. They've lost some members and added more. They've taken a good hard look at where they are and where they want to go and have decided that they need to be more welcoming and inviting; to find new members and make themselves more widely available to the community. They've talked about casting a wider net and have begun looking for ways to become more accessible to families.

And, simultaneously, they've started shutting people out. They've instituted new polices about "Late comers," appointed them specific seats in the back row (complete with signage) and, on a few occasions, employed bouncers to make sure they don't get in mid-song. This new stridency really only affects 3 groups of people- the elderly (many of whom rely on the services of others to get from place to place), the infirm (we once watched as a woman with a cane who recently had brain surgery was made to wait for a song to end), and the families (who have already fought hell and high water to get out the door, into the car, out of the car and in the door).

I've heard a lot lately about how families are turning away from all forms of organized religion. I've read heartwarming "Thank-You" posts from people encouraging young families to stick it out when their kids are noisy, inattentive and hard to manage during services. I've read anguished posts from strangers and friends about how hard it is to get their children to a service, to find a family friendly forum and to endure the stares of cranky, older, Caucasian worshippers when their children laugh too loud, ask curious questions or try to sing along when no one else is singing.  I've personally run out into the parking lot after strangers who were encouraged to "Get that kid out of here" by the woman sitting in front of me and convinced people that we are working hard to change. I've tried hard to convince my child that our "church" is a place she wants to be.

We arrived at the service today and parked the car with a minute to spare; made it up the stairs just as we heard voices start to sing the Gathering Hymn,"Enter, Rejoice and Come In." Ironically, when we tried to do just that, the door was closed. And not just closed to block out the noise of the children and babies in the nearby nursery, but fully shut and blocked by a member of the Committee on Ministry. So we stood, in the hall, outside the barricaded door, and obstructed window, listening to the congregation entreat people to "Enter, Rejoice and Come In." Needless to say, by the time we were able to enter and come in, we were not feeling very joyful (to add to the frustration 4 year old M, who had been ready and willing to enter, rejoice and come in when we arrived, spotted one of her friends in the nursery area and took off to play just as the door finally opened, leading one of us to chase after her and try and drag her into the sanctuary during the small window of opportunity when the door was open).

Even as I try to be objective about this, I can't figure out just what greater good this new closed-door policy is serving the congregation as a whole. The first 5 to 10 minutes of the service is generally taken up by a Gathering Hymn/Song of Community/Whatever It's Called (and wouldn't this be a fantastic time for people who are just arriving to... I dunno... gather?), a welcome statement, and a stream of announcements. In my opinion, this is not even worship yet; this is housekeeping. This is the PA system that comes on every morning in HS to tell you what's for lunch. Is it truly important that information be received in a silence uninterrupted by a walker or the shuffle of tiny feet? Are we all so uninvested in what is happening that the merest squeak of the door is enough to derail the entire spiritual train?

Galileo

Sometimes, when we drive home from the gym in the evening, we sing to M in an effort to get her to sleep before we arrive home. Our odds are generally 50/50-- she's never been a good car sleeper, but sometimes luck and exhaustion are on our side and we get to skip the increasingly intricate bedtime routine of bathroom trips, lost toys, extra sips of water, chapter books and, of course, more singing. Last night, on the drive, M requested a "sleepy song" and we happily obliged. Julie and I launched into a car rendition of The Indigo Girls, "Galileo"... but we barely made it past, "...as the bombshells of my daily fears explode/I try to trace them to my youth," when Em, from the dark of the backseat exclaimed, "Woah...woah... woah, guys. That song doesn't make any sense. Why was his head on the block? Who was Galileo?" And so we did what any 'ol parents of a preschooler would do and launched into an explanation of heliocentric vs geocentic theories, beheadings, the inquisition and the Catholic Church and the difference between jail and house arrest. When we were all satisfied that M had a pretty good understanding of Galileo's crimes and the Catholic Church's response to his theory (including his eventual 1992 pardoning postmortem) M asked that we start singing it again. From the beginning.

And so we did.

"How long 'til my soul gets it right?/ Can any human being ever reach the highest light?/I call on the resting soul of Galileo/ king of night vision, king of insight"

And again from the backseat- "Wait, wait, wait, guys. I have one more question. Why does she call him a king of inside?"

"Not inside, M. Insight."

"What's insight?"

"An ability to see and understand things in a way that other people may not- just like Galileo was able to see and understand that the Sun was in the middle of the solar system, even when others couldn't, she's asking his soul, or spirit, to come and help her understand things that she doesn't understand yet. She's asking his spirit for help."

"Oh. Ok. Keep singing."

It only seemed appropriate to follow it up with The Indigo Girl's "Ghost."

Olaf

Shhh.... I'm hunting land clams...

Conditions were right... stole away for 30 minutes before getting rugrat from school and found my first 2 delicacies of the season. If I don't make it to pick-up, check the woods. 

Can I Eat That?

At least 2 years before we had M, I discovered morels. For a person who spent every summer as a kid digging clams on Cape Cod, there are a lot of parallels to be drawn between digging clams and hunting mushrooms. Both are slow paced, intensely focused outdoor activities. Both require you to spend a good deal of time creeping about on your hands and knees. Both garner you strange looks from passers by and both reward you with hand harvested delicacies that most people have only eaten in a restaurant or purchased at a supermarket. With 18+ years of practice under my belt, I can glance at a hole in the sand and tell you if it conceals a quahog, steamer or razor clam, how big it is and how far below the surface it is likely to be. With only 5 years experience landclamming (as I call mushroom hunting), I'm not nearly that good. I've found 2 reliable spots in the area, but I spend far more time on wild goose chases than I do finding dinner.

This is the week that morels generally appear in Westchester- the last week of May and first weeks of June. Armed with a mesh bag and a jackknife, this is the week that I begin creeping quietly along the trails of my hometown and other nearby woodsy areas. I stop every 4 feet, drop to my hands and knees-- sometimes I even lie flat on the ground-- eye the trailside like a pool shark and try to think like a mushroom. Often I come up empty handed. Last year I found one; the year before that, none and the year before that quite a few. One year we found enough to make dinner out of them twice-- gently floured and fried crisp in butter they melt in your mouth and taste nothing like mushrooms. Served with a nice grilled steak... ::insert drooling Homer Simpson sound::

Yesterday we went on our first hunt at a reliable spot that owns a small piece of my heart. I don't know why I find this path so compelling; it's not particularly beautiful or particularly quiet or particularly anything, but it is littered with ruins and rock outcroppings and streams and all sorts of beautiful little finds that keep me coming back for more. When Julie and I had different work schedules I used to use my days alone to wander along the path, noting every teeny tiny change and watching spring ephemerals give way to lush green waysides and late June wineberries. I'd pack my wildflower, tree and mushroom guides along and try to identify and memorize everything's name, calling on skills that I haven't used since an awesome college botany class over a decade (a decade?????) ago. 

Sadly, we didn't find any mushrooms; I think the weather has still been a touch too dry and a touch too cold. I'm waiting for 3 days in the high 60's, low 70's, followed by a rain storm and then two warm days for those tasty little suckers to pop. But I was thrilled to locate some new-to-me plants growing along this favored trail. 

In addition to the expected dog-tooth violets, lilly-of-the-valley shoots, garlic mustard, solomon's seal, violets and skunk cabbage skunk cabbage I was super excited to find blue cohosh, bloodwort, marsh marigolds (though I kinda knew they were there, but had forgotten about them) and a carpet of periwinkle. Here's hoping that the next few days bring fiddlehead ferns, ramps and 'SHROOMS!!

Blue Cohosh

Periwinkle

Bloodwort

Hawkeye

A lone red tail hawk sitting in the tree in my front yard... 

...before flying off to join a friend. 

Glimpses

 Groundsel- The first little bit of bloom I've seen!

The first shoots of my lilly coming up. Last year was the first year it didn't get mowed down or stepped on by the groundsmutilators. We'll see how it fares this year.