SEPTEMBER JOYS [SA, 9-26-20]

 CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter

As I sat on our patio this morning, I watched the leaves rustle above our roof. This morning the leaves were more yellow than green. It made me happy. It means the fulfillment of the baseball season and the start of the school season.

I think moving to the farm near Oakland City was what gave me my love of baseball and of school. And why I’m happy when I see the leaves turn from summer to autumn. They mean the World Series, the fulfillment of the baseball season, and school, the end of a long hot boring summer.

Until age ten I had been a city boy in the near-east inner-city of Indianapolis, running from bullies, walking to the store to do errands for Mother or Mrs. Dickerson--who lived next door, the only black person for blocks around--and riding the street car downtown to Cadle Tabernacle with my sister to see some “uplifting” drama or concert.

Then we moved to a farm with no indoor plumbing but with a whole lot of chores that my parents thought were perfect for a ten-year-old boy-mowing, milking, hoeing, feeding [chickens, pigs, etc], chopping [wood, weeds], chasing [cows, pigs, chickens—anything that got where it shouldn’t be], throwing [hay-up onto the wagon, or down from the loft], plowing, picking [vegetables, berries, fruit], gathering [eggs], carrying [water in, used water out], shucking [corn], harnessing [horse to plow or wagon], plucking [feathers off the chicken so it could be fried]…

Is it any wonder that I decided I’d rather play baseball or go to school?

I never became much of a baseball player, although I am pretty reliable as a fan. I never became much of a scholar, although I got some degrees. But I gained an everlasting love of September, and that is as good a gift as I need. That, and not having to shovel manure.

John Robert McFarland