Maggie's Farm

Elizabeth Samet teaches Literature at West Point. A quote from a review of her book, Soldier's Heart, in Newsweek:

It's hard for any good teacher of English to get away from war; great literature is soaked in it. Along with love, war supplies us with the greatest human drama. And war, like love, seems to somehow be essential to the human condition. "You may not be interested in war," Leon Trotsky once wrote, "but war is certainly interested in you." For Samet, teaching these young cadets, the trick is to reconcile romantic notions of honor and glory with harsher realities, the randomness of death by IED or the savagery of bombing civilians—all the great and terrible things that humans do when fighting for their lives against other humans. In her new book, "Soldier's Heart," she does it beautifully. The book, named after an archaic term for combat fatigue or, to use the modern acronym, PTSD, is a recollection of her 10 years of teaching English at West Point, but it is much more than that: a meditation on the need for both myth and reality in preparing young officers for war.

From Sipp:

Thanks for the photo, Chris

Christopher Buckley, on his dad. (h/t, Am. Digest)  A quote:

And so off we sailed into the storm. This was in my father’s last sailboat, a 36-foot fiberglass sloop named Patito. We somehow made it across Long Island Sound, through a screaming, dark night and 15-foot seas. I kept the radio tuned to the Coast Guard frequency. I thought of my two young children. I thought of my warm bed in Washington. I thought, What the __ am I doing out here?

The next morning, after a sleepless night at anchor listening to the halyards slap furiously against the mast, dawn arrived greasily. The wind had increased. It was now gusting to 55 knots. The radio reported that half a million homes in New England were without power. Various governors had declared a state of emergency. We had gone for an overnight sail in a state of emergency.

I proposed that we row ashore and flag down a passing car. Or perhaps a passing FEMA vehicle.

“No, no,” said my father. “We’ll be fine.”

It was daylight now, so we could see the seas we were up against and there was nothing pleasant about them. Perhaps you’ve seen the movie The Perfect Storm?

Somehow we made it back across Long Island Sound. My mother had spent the morning on the phone to the Coast Guard. The Coast Guard kept saying, “But Mrs. Buckley, what are they doing out there in this?”

Good question, I thought, gulping down a brandy with trembling hands.

I simmered for a few days, and wrote my father a blistering letter. Never again, I vowed.

Read the whole thing. Photo from the piece at National Review.

Moon Over Peacham (VT), by Larry Miller. Available at Silver Print Press.

We reach down to the Gold Coast of suburban Fairfield County, CT for today's New England house for sale.

This 1920 4-bedroom house, with 4800 sq. feet, sits in the Tokeneke area of Darien's Long Island Sound waterfront in what realtors still call "Aryan Darien."

Darien: Cheaper and more homey than Greenwich, more pleasant than Stamford, and less than an hour from NYC by train. Average house price in town: over one million, and every kid in town is above average and plays hockey and lacrosse.

House looks modest and civilized enough to me. Asking $3,995,000, which seems quite reasonable for the area. More photos of the charming place here. 

But can I farm it, and shoot on it?

Matthew 6: 24-64

No one can serve two masters. For either he will hate the one and love the other, or else he will hold to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon.  (25)  Therefore I say to you, Do not be anxious for your life, what you shall eat, or what you shall drink; nor for your body, what you shall put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?  (26)  Behold the birds of the air; for they sow not, nor do they reap, nor gather into barns. Yet your heavenly Father feeds them; are you not much better than they are?  (27)  Which of you by being anxious can add one cubit to his stature?  (28)  And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow. They do not toil, nor do they spin,  (29)  but I say to you that even Solomon in his glory was not arrayed like one of these.  (30)  Therefore if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will He not much rather clothe you, of little faith?  (31)  Therefore do not be anxious, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, With what shall we be clothed?  (32)  For the nations seek after all these things. Your heavenly Father knows that you have need of all these things.  (33)  But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness; and all these things shall be added to you.  (34)  Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow; for tomorrow shall be anxious for its own things. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

h/t, Theo

It's a good time of year to re-link our past piece on Removing Pachysandra, that durable shade ground cover which is ubiquitous in these parts and which can be pleasant in the right place, but vulgar, I think, in others.

Getting it established takes some doing, but once it's happy it sure is tough to get rid of.

I have a patch to remove, maybe this weekend but my wheelbarrow has a flat so I need to fix that first.

Home Burial (1914)

He saw her from the bottom of the stairs
Before she saw him. She was starting down,
Looking back over her shoulder at some fear.
She took a doubtful step and then undid it
To raise herself and look again. He spoke
Advancing toward her: “What is it you see
From up there always?---for I want to know.”
She turned and sank upon her skirts at that,
And her face changed from terrified to dull.
He said to gain time: “What is it you see?”
Mounting until she cowered under him.
“I will find out now---you must tell me, dear.”
She, in her place, refused him any help,
With the least stiffening of her neck and silence.
She let him look, sure that he wouldn’t see,
Blind creature; and a while he didn’t see.
But at last he murmured, “Oh” and again, “Oh.”
“What is it---what?” she said.
                                                 “Just that I see.”
“You don’t,” she challenged. “Tell me what it is.”
“The wonder is I didn’t see at once.
I never noticed it from here before.
I must be wonted to it---that’s the reason.”
The little graveyard where my people are!
So small the window frames the whole of it.
Not so much larger than a bedroom, is it?
There are three stones of slate and one of marble,
Broad-shouldered little slabs there in the sunlight
On the sidehill. We haven’t to mind those.
But I understand: it is not the stones,
But the child’s mound---”
                                           “Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t,” she cried.
She withdrew, shrinking from beneath his arm
That rested on the banister, and slid downstairs;
And turned on him with such a daunting look,
He said twice over before he knew himself:
“Can’t a man speak of his own child he’s lost?”
“Not you!---Oh, where’s my hat? Oh, I don’t need it!
I must get out of here. I must get air.---
I don’t know rightly whether any man can.”
“Amy! Don’t go to someone else this time.
Listen to me. I won’t come down the stairs.”
He sat and fixed his chin between his fists.
“There’s something I should like to ask you, dear.”
“You don’t know how to ask it.”
                                                       “Help me, then.”

(the rest of the poem is below)

h/t, Dust My Broom

John Masterson Burke (1812-1909) led a long and successful life with many prominent friends and business associates, including Russell Sage and the Vanderbilts.

He never married, had no close relatives, and lived in a spartan manner in Manhattan. He left his $4.5 million estate in the name of his mother "for the establishment of the Winifred Masterson Burke Foundation, which is to be a rest home for convalescents..." The inspiration for his idea is unknown. Today, The Burke Rehabilitation Center in the NYC suburb of White Plains, NY is the premier rehabilitation and rehabilitation research center in the world.

A dear and close relation of mine is there right now, post hip-replacement and, if you have any doubts about American medicine, you will not after you see how this amazing place works.

It's interesting to read Burke's 1909 New York Times obit. Annoyed distant relatives came out of the woodwork after he wrote his final will.

Also wonderful to read the Victorian language (eg "will says he gave money to restore health, not for enjoyment") in this New York Times report on his bequest.

Although a vocal minority continues to attack the Christian faith, for most Americans, faith is a large part of their lives: 86 percent of Americans refer to themselves as religious, and 75 percent of all Americans consider themselves Christians. So how should they respond to these passionate, learned, and persuasive books that promote science and secularism over religion and faith? For years, Tim Keller has compiled a list of the most frequently voiced “doubts” skeptics bring to his Manhattan church. And in The Reason for God, he single-handedly dismantles each of them. Written with atheists, agnostics, and skeptics in mind, Keller also provides an intelligent platform on which true believers can stand their ground when bombarded by the backlash. The Reason for God challenges such ideology at its core and points to the true path and purpose of Christianity.

Why is there suffering in the world? How could a loving God send people to Hell? Why isn’t Christianity more inclusive? Shouldn’t the Christian God be a god of love? How can one religion be “right” and the rest “wrong”? Why have so many wars been fought in the name of God? These are just a few of the questions even ardent believers wrestle with today. In this book, Tim Keller uses literature, philosophy, real-life conversations and reasoning, and even pop culture to explain how faith in a Christian God is a soundly rational belief, held by thoughtful people of intellectual integrity with a deep compassion for those who truly want to know the truth.

Tim is the pastor of New York's booming Redeemer Presbyterian Church, but he is also well-known through his Thursday Men's Breakfast talks at The Harvard Club, which focus on the application of Christianity to daily life and especially to business life. Either or both are worth attending when visiting NYC.

Recordings of these excellent and routinely sold-out talks can be gotten here by subscription, or here on recordings (most are $5.)

h/t, Theo

"... those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music."

Friedrich Nietzche (h/t, Neptunus Lex)

The WSJ's Dan Henninger comment, with video. I think he has it about right.

Furthermore, the dominance of these SF Dems - these Vietnam-sentimentalists - in the party and in the primaries is the reason they will lose in November.

Our morning links today reported the growing ogling crisis in the UK. Men are pigs: the government must do something. We hope this sign will contribute something useful to the discussion of the crisis, if not offer a simple solution. Why ogle, after all, if you can just stare?

We like the healthy, wholesome NSFW barmaid on the continuation page.

Sargent's The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit (1882). MFA, Boston.

Thanks, Buddy.

The remarkable Sylvie Guillem with Laurent Hillaire in a short excerpt from Forsythe's In the Middle Somewhat Elevated:

Sheffield, MA, in the southern Berkshires, is one of the loveliest villages in New England. It has well-kept horse farms, a few dairy farms, a bunch of quaint bed-and-breakfasts, wooded hills, a 250 year-old Congregational Church, and a population of around 3000.

It isn't too far from Maggie's Farm, and it isn't too far from where Alice's Restaurant used to be (in Stockbridge).

The only problem with this fine 1880 carriage barn-home is that it comes with only 6 acres. I would need ten or twenty times that to do what I want to do. The only other downside is all of the Subarus with Obama stickers in the area. (Asking price $740,000).

The workshop and office space on the ground level are an appealing feature.

(No, we are not in the real estate business: we just like a break from politics.)

As if to reinforce our post below, we finally learn why she was fired from the Watergate hearings. This is amazing (but not surprising), at Hot Air. Let's see whether the press is brave enough to be all over this or not. She is a sociopath, just like hubbie - but not as slick as he is. "Birds of a feather..."

It's the final nail. She's done. (And I think Obama is done, too, with his Farrakhan story. Unless he tries to explain, once again, that I wouldn't understand because it's "a black thing.")

Dems sure can pick 'em. I bet Chris Dodd and Joe Biden are looking pretty good to them now.

Update: More on the story here.

As readers know, The Friends of Blackwater NWR in Cambridge, MD have two live BirdCams, one on a Bald Eagle nest: Click here: Friends of Blackwater NWR - Bald Eagle Cam (I only see one little eaglet in the nest) and the other on an Osprey nest: Click here: Friends of Blackwater NWR - Osprey Cam.

Photo is an eagle with a fish, perched on a not-yet used Osprey nest platform.

A remarkable short video. Who knew where penguins really spend the winter?